SHAPING THE FUTURE'S PAST
by Queen Voldemort de Riddle
Summary: In the race against time, Hermione must work quickly to execute the plan that her late headmaster had devised. Thrust back in time, she experienced different emotions as she was introduced to power, love and lust. She gradually learned that there was no good and evil, and that knowledge is power. Will she succeed, or will fate intervened? A time travel story with a wonderful twist!
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Dear readers,

Hello and welcome to my story. Please let me know what you think about it. This is my first attempt of writing fanfiction. I hope it is not too bad.

Please do leave me some reviews. It would motivate me to go on writing. Thank you. Looking forward for your reviews.

The next chapter would be uploaded soon. I have already finished putting it down on paper. It only needs to be typed up. Sorry that that chapter is a bit short. I promised that the chapters would be longer as the story progresses.

Please bear with me for any spelling or grammatical errors, as I have not managed to find a beta yet. I hope that I will get one real soon. Do drop me a message if any of you feel that my story is worth your time and you would volunteer to beta it for me. Thank you in advance.

Enough of rambling for now. Now, let's begin, shall we?

Cheers.

Queen Voldemort de Riddle

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Disclaimer: The rights of Harry Potter remain with the respectful writer, J.K. Rowling. I do not own anything, save the plot.

Note: This story is cannon compliant, save for some alterations which I made to suit my story. It does not take into account the final half of Deathly Hallows.

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PROLOGUE

It is our choices . . . that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities – Professor Albus Dumbledore

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Albus Dumbledore let out a long and tired sigh, and leaned back on the soft leather armchair which he sat on for the past four hours. Gently, he eased the chair away from the mahogany table, where stacks of parchment laid neatly on one corner, whilst the other half was littered with his small collection of trinkets and contraptions. He rubbed his temples as he muttered under his breath. His blue eyes had almost lost their twinkle by now. He was so tired. He knew that he was exhausted, physically and mentally exhausted. Yet, he must fight on. He must ensure that all the plans he had developed over the past few months are executed accordingly.

Another sigh escaped Dumbledore's lips as he stretched out his long legs. His muscles were aching, but he ignored it. He cast another glance at his all-too-familiar office. The tall shelves with its respective leather-bound tomes, the other half of his collection, which were emitting low hums and ticks every now and then, Fawkes the phoenix at its usual perch, the sorting hat at the top shelf and a glitter of red – the sword of Godric Gryfindor, displayed in a glass case and placed against the wall opposite from where he was sitting. Thoughts flickered across his mind on their own accord. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his thoughts wandered.

"Yes," he kept on telling himself. "Yes, yes, yes, yes."

He had made too many mistakes in his life. He was an old man, blinded by his own judgment and as much as he hated to admit it, he had allowed his personal feelings to affect his judgments. Hence, the mistakes he made were wholly unforgivable. He should not have taken into account certain risks. He should not have been too careful. He should, as Muggles called it, "strike when the moment was right" and "take risks as they come, despite what it may be".

He kept on assuring himself that his plans were for the greater good. The flaws in his plans were due to unforeseen circumstances. However, such thoughts were merely excuses he conjured up out of necessity, to ease his conscience and gave him a piece of the mind. Nonetheless, the mind is a wonderful mechanism, and never forgets easily. The truth still haunted him on cold lonely nights, such as this one and he did not have the heart nor strength to delude himself from the truth. The cold, hard and bitter truth.

Three words had caused all this, he kept reminding himself. Three tiny words, which, without knowing, had changed his life completely. From the gay, happy and carefree life he had lived up to his teens, the existence of these words in his life dictated his life for him. It shaped his ideology. It gave him a sense of direction. And he knew when all this started.

It all began on a warm summer's afternoon, when he was seventeen. It was nearly a hundred years from now. This was the day that he met the person who changed his life: Gellert Grindelwald.

"No! Don't go there!" he kept on telling himself. It was all over. He should put the past behind him and move on. Yet, the three tiny words kept on ringing in his ears. Try as hard as he might, he could not block them out.

The greater good.

These words had destroyed half of his life. The first major disaster was the death of his sister, Ariana. After that, the years ahead were not easy. The estranged relationship between Aberforth and him was painful. He had begun to repent by then, but Aberforth was not easy on him. Aberforth preferred to put the blame on him forever, for losing Ariana. Of course, Dumbledore did not blame him. How could he? After all, it  
was his own selfishness which had lead to Ariana's death. He deserved to be blamed for it.

The duel with Grindelwald represented another milestone in his life. Although the magical world seemed to admire him, praising him for his success and showering him with their compliments, Dumbledore never felt proud of his achievement. He felt that all of this could have ended in a better way. Yes, it could all have ended well. Gellert should not be humiliated for Dumbledore still had a soft spot for his so-called companion. However, as time passed, he tried to forget this as best as possible. Gellard was not the sort of person to be sympathised with. He deserved what he got. Whatever old spark between them was long extinguished, on the day Ariana Dumbledore died. He had vowed to himself that he would do his best and go all out to ensure that Grindalwald was destroyed. Only then he would have the strength to live on as this would ease his conscience a little.

Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles and polished them.

However, the problem with Gellard Grindalwald was only one of his failures. His second failure concerns Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Tom," the old man sighed as he continued to polish his spectacles. "If only I can do something to make you see reason, if only I can figure out a way to stop you . . ."

Dumbledore had already foreseen what would become of the scrawny young orphan he met back in Wools Orphanage in 1936. The dark aura surrounding him was so strong, that it almost gave him a shock. He had laid out plans to help the boy, even before Tom arrived at Hogwarts. The cold, hard stare in Riddle's eyes was still clear in Dumbledore's mind.

"I can talk to snakes. Is that normal?" the cold, high-pitched voice which is devoid of emotion still rang out clearly in the old professor's head, as though it had only been spoken yesterday. There was a calculating look in those cold gray eyes back then.

Since then, Dumbledore was afraid. He could tell instantly that Riddle was destined to achieve great things in his life. And Dumbledore suddenly felt afraid. Afraid of what lies ahead for the history of the wizzarding world. He had foreseen that Tom Marvolo Riddlee would create history, dark history indeed. Hence, he had set to work, devising strategies and carefully thought out plans. However, much to his chagrin, his plans did not work out as he planned.

Hence, Lord Voldemort rises and dominated the wizzarding world.

"Failure, I am a failure, Fawkes," Dumbledore had once said, as he stroked Fawkes. Fawkes just looked at him with bright fiery eyes, without blinking. After a while, it winked, and nipped Dumbledore's ears affectionately. Dumbledore had known that Fawkes had trusted him all the time and gave him the strength to go on. He patted the bird absent-mindedly while his mind whirled into motion on its own accord, devising more plans to try to bring Lord Voldemort to his downfall.

Before his plans were put into motion, Lord Voldemort had been vanquished temporarily from the wizzarding world. Harry Potter was his next problem. He had known that Lord Voldemort would someday return, and he must learn more about the mystery surrounding the dark lord's disappearance. Most important of all, he must know how Harry Potter, a mere baby of one year of age could defeat the darkest wizard of all time.

Through years of research, he had come upon many theories. Of course, he had a feeling that he knew how this extraordinary thing had happened, but he refused to believe it. He still had some faith in Tom. Or did he? He knew quite well why he had kept on making excuses for Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore had believed at first that the young man was still fresh and did not know fully about the ways of the world. His blood was still young and hot. He could see a shadow of himself in Tom's eye; young, power-hungry, desperate for recognition for the great things he did and the list just wants on and on. However, these excuses were gradually pushed aside when Lord Voldemort rises, and started to gather his own alliance. Dumbledore knew that this was another Grindelwald in the making, and Tom must be stopped. Tom was inhuman, and he may do anything to achieve his goal.

The theory of how Harry Potter managed to destroy Lord Voldemort had remained in the back of his mind for sixteen years, and his theory proved to be right. After sessions of working together with Harry for the past six months, he finally got his theory confirmed. The memory from Horace Slughorn, the completed and unobscured version which Harry had obtained from his dear friend only a few weeks ago had satisfied him. He was right all along.

However, as much as he had enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that what he had predicted was right, he could not evade the other half of the matter. The ugly truth of the matter. The terrible, cold and undeniable truth.

Harry must not know about this, or it would drain the strength out of him. The boy was so determined to fight on, to seek revenge for the ones whom he loved and lost and to protect the ones he treasured now. The truth would break him.

Dumbledore gave his spectacles a final polish before putting them on. It perched lightly on the tip of his crooked nose. The nose where his brother had broke, and which had inflicted upon him a wound which could not be healed for the rest of his life.

Not that he had much longer to live on, he gathered. He cast a sideways glance at his right hand. Limp, blackened, decaying flesh. He chuckled. What a mess he had gotten himself into, he mused. Nonetheless, it was worth it, he decided. It would pay off. His sacrifice is nothing compared to Harry's sacrifice.

He could still remembered clearly the day after the battle at the Ministry of Magic. After he had brought Harry back to his office. The scenes flashed clearly in his mind's eye: Harry, standing by his office door, asking Dumbledore to let him out; his anger; the tantrum he threw; Dumbledore felt the magic crackling around him dangerously; the look he gave Dumbledore when Dumbledore disclosed to him the truth of the matter. He could not forget all this. The betrayed look in Harry's clear and beautiful eyes.

However, he could not bring himself to break yet another unpleasant fact to Harry. The boy would not like it at all.

"Neither would live, while the others survived," Dumbledore mouthed softly.

There was no other way around this.

And this, Dumbledore reflected, was another of his failure. If he had intervened in stopping Lord Voldemort from rising to power earlier, the problem could have been solved. Alternatively, a different outcome may be reached.

How he wish he could end all of this nicely. As he knew that his days were numbered, he must act fast. He must think fast. He must leave no stones unturned. Every possibility would have to be explored. He did not wish it to end the way it was supposed to end.

No matter how hard he tried, the solution just would not come to him. Until last week.

Sybil Trelawney was never a favourite staff of his, but her contributions were less significant to the success and popularity of Hogwarts. Nonetheless, Dumbledore knew deep down the main reason she had got the job. She was the key to everything, for she had made the prophecy. And last week, Sybil Trilawney had proved to be the key to the current problem. He would never forgot their encounter, near the astronomy tower.

He praised his own instincts for taking a midnight stroll on that day. He had felt restless, and decided that it would be a good idea to wander up to the astronomy tower and gazed at the clear midnight sky, decorated with stars. And it was on the astronomy tower that he struck gold.

Dumbledore straightened up, stretched and pushed the chair closer to the table once again. Time is running out and he must work fast. After the encounter with Trilawney, he finally formulated a plan. He knew that there were risks involved, but there was not much time to ponder such points. He had learned from past experiences that brooding would kill off good time. Hence, he had started to devise the plan, outlining the possibilities that may arise if it succeeded and likewise. Thus far, the possibilities outweigh the demerits of it, and he was satisfied. He was sure that the plan would succeed, despite the risks. He was sure that the person assigned to this task would be able to handle the matter efficiently. He had every confidence in that person, and usually his confidence are rewarded.

Sighing, the old man reached for the phoenix feather quill he had put down earlier, rummaged in his desk for a fresh roll of thick parchment, and set to work, penning down a lengthy letter.

It took him approximately two hours to complete the letter. By then, he had used up twelve rolls of parchments. He read through them quickly. Once he was done, he rolled them up nicely, conjured an envelope and placed them into it. He waved his hand, and the envelope was sealed.

The first stage of the plan has been completed. He repeated the process again, penning down yet another letter. This one was evidently shorter than the previous letter, as it only took up a roll of parchment. He repeated the process of sealing the envelope which he had place the letter into.

"There," he hummed softly.

His part was done. He took out a fine golden box from his robe pocket and turned it over in his hands. Nearly done, he reminded himself. After taking another look at it, he placed the box on the table, beside the two letters which he had written earlier and waved his hand. They were gone before his own eyes, tucked away safely in a place he knew would be quite safe.

His part was finally done. Truly and finally done. He hoped all was well. Now, he would have to wait for the right moment and give the appropriate instructions to the person he trusted the most.

"All would be well," Dumbledore mouthed quietly as he gazed out of the window at the far end of his office.

Dawn was slowly approaching. Dumbledore gazed out at the beautiful scenery and smiled. The world is such a beautiful place, he mused. And sadly enough, he only noticed this when his end is near.

It does not matter. It made no difference whatsoever, he gathered. He would live and enjoy life to the fullest. Death is nothing but the next great adventure, he remembered himself telling this to Harry and a few close friends. One must be prepared to face death, for it would come eventually.

Only one person failed to see this. Only one person was afraid of death. And Dumbledore felt sorry for that person.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered as he stretched again and stood up. He had an appointment with the Order of the Phoenix in half an hour, and he should start to get ready to travel again. "All of this is going to change, Tom. I knew my mistakes, and I would correct them, one by one. Let's see how it goes."

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"Severus, now!"

Severus Snape nodded grimly and stood up from the Headmaster's chair. He gave Dumbledore's portrait, which was attached to the back of the chair a small nod.

"I understand," he said.

"Be quick, Severus. You must do it before it is too late. This is a matter of great importance."

"And you still would not tell me why, Dumbledore?"

The bitterness in Snape's voice was apparent.

"I wish I could, Severus. But, I don't think you should know more than it is necessary. Perhaps, you'll know someday, when the time is right."

"Oh well, forget about me," the portrait of Pheanius Nigellus Black snickered. "After all, who would think of thanking old Pheanius for telling about the location of . . ."

"Hush, Pheanius. Thank you," Dumbledore said quickly.

Pheanius sniffed, but kept quiet.

Snape had taken a long travelling cloak out of his pocket. He wrapped the cloak around him as he said, "Very well. I'll do as you said. I would not enquire into this matter if you did not wish me to know about it. After all, you know where my loyalties lie, Dumbledore." He sounded reproachful.

"That's right, Snape. In my time, staffs don't use to talk back to the headmaster, who is their superior. Don't be insolent and disrespectful. My, my, I always have said that Dumbledore is too soft. He will tolerate such nonsense. Hmmmmph." Pheanius Nigellus drawled, snickering at Snape from his portrait. Snape just pursued his lips, and glowered at the portrait.

"Now, now, Pheanius," Dumbledore said from his portrait. "We have some important business to attend to, and I would appreciate it very much if you . . ."

"That's right. Old Pheanius is no longer needed. Just keep your nose out of it, old boy. You know when your opinion is not wanted," Pheanius sneered.

Dumbledore ignored the portrait. He just sighed and closed his eyes.

Snape waved his hands and a wooden box materialised. He shranked it, placed it into his pocket and straightened up.

A few seconds later, he turned on the spot and disappeared into the night.

"All is well," Dumbledore mouthed.

Pheanius Nigellus Black sniffed. He felt offended for the lack of attention or praise which neither Dumbledore nor that insolent brat of a headmaster would offer. Nonetheless, he sighed and slipped into the canvas of his portrait, sulking as he did.

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	2. Chapter 2: HOPE IS BORN AGAIN

Author's Notes:

Hello readers!

Here is a new chapter. Please let me know what you think. Enjoy!

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Chapter 1: Hope Is Born Again

1st January 1999

Severus Snape apparated soundlessly near the edge of the Forest of Dean. He shivered as a cold gust of wind smacked against his face. Although he was wearing a thick travelling cloak and a dark hood, the cold seeped through his body and made his teeth chatter. His nostrils were pricked by the scents of fresh snow and old tree barks. The sky was dark; the moon had hidden behind the clouds, making the sky pitch black. Not a single star can be spotted above the sky. This was indeed a cold and frosty night. A wise person would not have wandered into this part of the world at this time, but Severus Snape knew that this did not apply to him. He had a task to carry out, and he will ensure that he performed it well. There was no time to lose.

He would not fail Lily Evans, his one and only love. He would not let her down. He will do what he can to protect her son; the boy whom he had hated for so many years, the boy whom he had taunted and mocked throughout the six years he was teaching at Hogwarts and the boy whom was the only reminder of Lily's presence to him. He could not bring himself to look into those big green eyes. It pained him to do so, for he would feel her presence stronger than ever if those eyes were turn on him. Every time he looked at the boy's eyes, a bitter resentment overtook him. He hated his life, hated the whole wizzarding world and hated the one who had killed the love of his life. A part of him died along with Lily on the night the tragedy occurred.

It was then that he made the biggest decision in his life; he decided to do what he could to ease his conscience and to savage what is left of her i.e. her own bone and flesh. He vowed that he would protect her son, although he hated that stupid egoistic brat, James Potter, who had taken everything away from him; his life, his happiness and his self-confidence. He kept reminding himself that he was doing this for Lily, and this was his only gift to her departed soul that he can afford to give her. For this reason, his loyalty lies with the light side, and he was ready to carry out what Albus Dumbledore had assigned him to do. Even after Dumbledore had told him about the horrible truth. The boy would have to die eventually.

At first, the truth stung him like a poisonous bee for it hurts. All he had done for all these years to protect the boy was nothing. His sacrifice will be washed down the drains by a simple flick of a thirteen-and-a-half inches yew wand which had killed many others. Albus Dumbledore had dared to keep the truth from him for so long, and he, Severus Snape felt humiliated and being used as a tool to achieve whatever stupid goal that old codger of a headmaster had in mind. He felt stupid for accepting Dumbledore's offer. He admitted that Dumbledore did not in any way force him into this. He had been rash on that Halloween night as he was over stricken by grief and distress upon hearing Lily's death that he did not have a clear head to mull over his options. He only wanted to avenge her death and do something for Lily. He felt that he owed his life to her. And now, after all these years, Dumbledore dared to tell him that Harry Potter would have to die and there was no other way around this.

Rage boiled up inside him when the truth finally hit him. He was just like a puppet, letting himself to be used by Dumbledore. He was told what to do without knowing the purpose of doing it. He was kept in the dark for as long as possible until he insisted to know the truth. He wondered why Dumbledore had told him the horrible truth. He wished the old man would continue to keep him in the dark. This would make him feel better and not doubt the old man's judgments. For so many years, he had never doubted Dumbledore's capabilities. Dumbledore was always a great man, although he refused to say it out. The old man was capable of many great things. And most important of all, Snape felt that Albus Dumbledore was not a liar. He never deceived anyone, in Snape's opinion. Deep down inside, he secretly admired the old headmaster's strength and wisdom. He wished that he could be like Dumbledore some day in the future.

The truth had been a great blow to him. He started to doubt his beliefs and all the ideas that Dumbledore had planted in his head earlier. How could the old man be so cruel, he wondered. He had raised and protects a boy until he is ready to be killed, which is akin to raising a pig until it was ready to be slaughtered. This way of death was, in Snape's opinion, the most gruesome and cruel of all. To think that a person is lead into believing that he will survive and walk away from death by raising him and planting said beliefs in his head until the last moment of his life, wherein all the hopes were shattered. Snape could not imagine what Harry Potter would feel when he finally knew the truth.

He was on the verge of doubting his loyalty when Dumbledore told him that there was still a sliver of hope. He wanted to belief every word that Dumbledore had told him, but he still doubts the old man's assurance. Dumbledore had preferred to keep him in the dark again this time, and had assured him that all would work well if the plan is carried out accordingly. However, Snape did not miss the doubt and hesitation in Dumbledore's eyes when he gave Snape the instructions for his task. This would be his last task, Dumbledore assured him. He would not have to do anything more after that. If the plan was successful, all would be well.

Snape hoped for the best. He had gone so far in protecting Lily's son. There was nothing much that he could do, except proceed with Dumbledore's plan. A final resort to save the boy's life and the whole wizzarding world, Dumbledore had told him and Snape was willing to belief it. He wanted to belief it. He would not let all his hard work for the past seventeen years be destroyed. He was willing to risk another chance to ensure that Harry Potter, the son of his beloved Lily escape the clutches of death. He would not let Lord Voldemort succeed. Lord Voldemort would not get to kill Harry Potter, the boy he, Severus Snape had vowed to protect. Harry Potter would survive, and the entire wizzarding world would be free from this terrible war if the plan succeeds, Dumbledore assured him. And Severus Snape had chosen to believe the old man's words. Either this was to delude himself from the truth or to ease his conscience, he did not know.

The wind smacked against his face again, and Severus Snape shivered. He wrapped his travelling cloak more tightly around him and started to walk slowly into the dark forest.

Pheanius Nigellus Black had told him that they were camping in the middle of the forest, not far from a lake. He observed his surroundings as he entered the forest. The ground beneath his feet was frozen. Snow covered the small pines along the edges of the forest. The air got colder as he trudged deeper into the forest.

At some point, he glanced behind him nervously to ensure that he was not followed. The dark shadows made up by the tall trees which were all covered with snow were the only things he saw. He must work fast. He must get back to Hogwarts in time before the other Death Eaters realised that he was gone. Not that it was any of their business, what he did. He was one of the dark lords must faithful and trusted follower, and he would not have to report his whereabouts to the others, except the dark lord. Nonetheless, he decided to play safe. He did not want anyone to get suspicious. If they knew that he was a double agent, all his hard work would be wasted and his own life would be at stake. Not that he would care, but he still had to protect the boy. He would not risk any chance.

The trees begin to thicken as he approached a tall boulder, which formed a clearing which stood out at the middle of the forest. He approached the boulder, and leaned against it. He lit his wand cautiously and scanned his surroundings. He could see some shapes not far from where he was standing. There were more trees ahead of him and in the distance; he could see the unmistakable silhouette of a tent. He was nearing his target now, he gathered.

Cautiously, he edged around the tall boulder, and quickened his pace. He rummaged in his pocket for an invisibility cloak. He unfolded the soft silvery cloth and threw it over himself as he was nearing the tent. He made his way quietly past the tent. He caught a glimpse of someone sitting at the entrance of the tent as he passed. He could feel the strong wards closing in on him as he approached the tent.

At least they have the sense to put up protection when they are camping out, he mused, as he casted a strong spell over himself to avoid being detected by the wards. If they knew that someone was around, it would not help matters as they would be suspicious and move away as fast as possible. He was already running out of time.

He could see a patch of white ahead of him. He knew that he was approaching the lake now. He was some distance away from the tent.

Sure enough, as he turned into a small and narrow path, he saw the lake. It was frozen, its white surface glistening. He trudged carefully along sharp edges and jagged rocks until he reached the bank. He put out one foot and prodded the frozen lake. The water was frozen and was as cold as ice. He could feel the child seeping into his foot even though he was wearing thick leather boots. He watched his steps as he started to skid across the lake. When he reached the middle of it, he stopped. He looked around him again.

He was safe. He was completely alone.

He reached into the pocket of his travelling cloak and brought out a glass case. With a casual flick of his wand, the case shattered. He held the hilt of the sword in his hand. The glint of red ruby pierced his eyes as he crouched down, and inserted the blade of the sword into the frozen snow. The blade only sank halfway into the snow. With the aid of his wand, he managed to get it a few inches deeper.

He straightened up a few minutes later when he was satisfied with what he had done. It would not be easy to pull the blade out of the snow, but he hoped that the boy would use his common sense and do what was right. He had no time to see whether the boy would manage to get the sword out of the frozen lake, but Dumbledore had assured him that it would all turn out fine.

He skidded back to the bank, and stepped over the sharp and jagged rocks once more. The first step of the plan was done. He smirked satisfactorily as the glint of red caught his eye as he looked across the lake from where he was standing. The boy would not miss it, he figures.

He would have to lead the boy to the sword now, and he figured that this would not be difficult at all. He turned and retraced his steps towards the tent.

Sure enough, he saw the boy as he approached the entrance of the tent. A pair of bright green eyes looked right through him, unblinking. He looked away, for he could not stand looking at those eyes. It brought back various painful memories.

He was not far from the tent when he spotted a clump of tall bushes. He hid behind the bushes and observed his surroundings once more. Once he ensured that he was completely alone, he raised his wand.

: Expecto patronum!"

The silver doe erupted from the tip of his wand. He began to lead it slowly towards the tent, watching his steps as he walked. The silver doe approached the tent and beckoned the boy to follow him. After a moment's hesitation, the boy started to follow his lead. Surprise and alarm was written all over his face as the boy ran after the doe.

He wished that the boy would hurry up and not make too much of noise. He could hear the boy's slow and silent footsteps as he drew closer. He quickened his strides and leads the doe to the edge of the lake. When the boy was approaching the bank, he flicked his wand and the silver doe disappeared.

He waited as the boy observed his surroundings. The bright green eyes were staring into the darkness with confusion.

Finally, it rested on the glint of red at the middle of the lake. The boy's face was blank for a few seconds. Then, comprehension dawned on his features.

Snape smirked satisfactorily. He turned away and retraced his steps quickly to the tent. He had no time to lose. This was the most crucial part of his plan.

He took one final look at the boy before he approached the tent. The boy was now pointing a wand at the middle of the lake. He hoped that the boy would not try something stupid, but he had no time to care about that for now.

He threw off his invisibility cloak and stuffed it back into his pocket when he approached the tent. He quickly cancelled all the protection wards and stepped into the tent.

He glanced around the tend and spotted the girl. She was lying fast asleep on one of the bunk beds in the tent. He approached it, and gave the girl a rough shove on her back.

She stirs a little, but did not wake. He prodded her hard in the middle with the tip of his wand. Her eyelids flew open and she jerked awake.

"Harry? What..."

She rubbed her eyes before sitting up quickly and looked around her. It was a few moments before she was fully awake and her gaze finally focused on him.

Horror was written all over her face when she saw him. Her mouth fell open and she clamped one hand over it after a few seconds.

As she was about to scream, he quickly silenced her with a silencing spell. Her eyes widened with fright. She tried to push herself up from the bunk on which she was sitting, but he was too quick for her.

"Petrificus totalus!"

She was not able to move a muscle. Her arms fell limply on her sides and she collapsed onto the bed. He hoisted her upright, and dragged her body out of the tent, keeping a firm grip on her left arm. Her chocolate eyes watched him with horror. He could feel her breath quickening and her whole body trembling as he leads her out of the tent.

He dragged her along with him until they reached the edge of the forest. Then, he turned on the spot and apparated both of them away.

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They were all doomed.

Hermione knew that they will all die that night.

The Death Eaters have managed to discover them at last. But how? The wards she put up did not even show any signs of someone being in the vicinity. They must have cleverly cancelled them, she thought. They must have known that they were camping out in the Forest of Dean all along, and waited for the best moment to strike. And what better time to do it than in the middle of the night?

This was all Ronald Weasley's fault, she thought bitterly as Severus Snape dragged her limp body out of the tent. She could not move a muscle or scream. Snape had been too quick for her. She tried to glance around the tent before she was dragged out of it. Harry was nowhere to be seen. He must have been captured already, Hermione gathered. Lord Voldemort would kill his so-called enemy, the cause of his downfall and all his sufferings tonight. The wizzarding world would be under his reign in no time.

But what could stupid Ron do if he was here, she wondered. He was really quite useless, save from complaining that they have not enough to eat. His ideas and strategies were all useless. It is a blessing instead of a disappointment when he left, she decided. She and Harry would be better off without him. Yet, deep down inside, anger boiled up in her. How dare Ron behaved so childishly" How could he said such horrible things? It had torn them apart, and Ron had the nerve to suggest that she was on his side, whilst all along, she was supporting Harry through and through. He should have understood the difficulties of the situation. She was willing herself to belief that Harry had really no idea at all on what Dumbledore had assigned him to do. She pitied him for that. He had already a lot of burdens on his shoulder, having to cope with the loss of his parents and his godfather. Hermione was willing to do what she could to help her best friend get through the war. She was sure that they would eventually succeed if they execute the appropriate strategies. The wild goose chase that Dumbledore had set them on was beginning to irritate her. At least the headmaster should lay down clearer guidelines instead of living them weird clues which were difficult to decipher.

The incident back at Godric's Hollow had scared her. They had nearly fallen into one of the dark lord's traps. Guilt clutched at her when she had broke Harry's wand accidentally. She knew that the boy-who-lived was fuming, but he did not show it. She had let him have her wand instead, but she knew that Harry was not too comfortable with it. Of course, she mused. The wand chooses the wizard. Her wand was not the ideal wand for Harry. He was more comfortable with his holy and phoenix feather wand, which was now broken, and laid at the bottom of her beaded bag.

They should not go to that dreaded place, she mused. However, curiosity had gotten the better of them. Harry wanted to find Bathilda Bagshot, to see if the old historian can tell them anything about Dumbledore and whether Dumbledore had left any clues for them with the old woman. It was unfortunate that Lord Voldemort had discovered their plan, and set a trap for them.

Hermione shivered as a cold gust of wind smacked against her. They were nearing the edge of the Forest of Dean now. Snape was gripping her elbow so hard that she was sure that her arm would be bruised when he let go of it. She was not sure where he was taking her, but she knew that the end is near. They will all die.

Harry would die first, followed by her. Then, they will find Ron and kill him too. And then, all the wizzarding world will be destroyed. Those who did not pledge their loyalty to the dark lord once he had taken over the wizzarding world will suffer and be banished from the world for good.

Snape stopped when they had reached the edge of the forest. Hermione gazed around franticly. There was no sign of Harry. The others must have already captured him and brought him to the dark lord, she realised.

Without warning, Snape turned on the spot. Hermione nearly lost her balance as Snape pulled her with him as he turned. The familiar suffocating and compression process of apparition filled up her body as they disappeared into a tube of darkness.

Hermione closed her eyes. She was going to die. And she will die bravely, like a Gryfindor.

This was the last thought that entered Hermione's head before she collapsed onto a hard surface. Air filled the surroundings, and she inhaled it greedily. She did not dare to open her eyes just yet. They have reached their destination, she gathered.

A painful jab on her neck made her open her eyes. Snape stood before her, like a predator standing before his prey. His expression was unreadable as his black beetle eyes surveyed her. The tip of his wand was placed on her neck. She trembled and averted his gaze. She knew that he was a good occlumens. She hoped that he would not try to read her mind. Quickly, she blocked her mind from his intrusion. She had become a rather good occlumens herself as she had studied the art of it for the past few months. She figured that this would be a precaution to take, just in case they were captured by Death Eaters. Harry still failed to close his mind, but Hermione knew that he was not making much effort to do so. Harry wanted to use the connection between his mind and the dark lord's mind to his advantage, to try to figure out the dark lord's plans but Hermione was strongly against it.

Hermione cast her gaze downwards as Snape took a few steps towards her and close the distance between them. She could feel her pulse quickening and her hear thumping crazily as he approached.

"Get up, Granger!"

Snape's voice was cold and lack of emotion. Hermione tilted her head and looked up into the face of her potion's master. The face she had come to hate. The horrible traitor to the light side and Order of the Phoenix and the murderer of Albus Dumbledore. Black beetle eyes bore into hers when she studied his face. He had not changed much, he gathered. He wore a thick travelling cloak, which he now took off with a casual flick of his wand. His immaculate black robes billowed as he stepped briskly around her and placed the cloak on a nearby couch. His long greasy black hair sticks to his forehead, as though it had not been washed for edges. His greasy face betrayed no emotion as he turned to face her again.

She flinched inwardly when he raised his wand. This is it, Hermione decided. He was going to kill her now. She was not worth his time. She was a Mudblood after all. By right, she should be long dead.

She would not show him any fear. She would die proudly. She held up her head high and faced him.

He flicked his wand. Hermione closed her eyes and waited for the killing curse to hit her body.

Surprisingly, she felt nothing. She opened her eyes and looked at Snape. He smirked as he flicked his wand again. This time, she felt the body bind spell lifted from her body. She moved her fingers and wriggled her toes. She opened her mouth, and found that the silencing spell had been cancelled. What was Snape playing at, she wondered.

Perhaps he wanted to question her about what she knew about Dumbledore's plans thus far. Yes, she gathered. This must be it. He was going to interrogate her and torture answers out of her. She would not give in to him. She would not let him get his way. She was sure that he would kill her after he had the answers from her. She had no more use for the wizzarding world; she was just a insolent and pathetic know-it-all, as he used to call her back in his classes.

Her courage got the better at her as she stood up. Her legs were still sore and shaky from the walk but she was determined to give Snape a piece of her mind. After all, it made no difference, as he would dispose of her sooner.

She looked at her surroundings. Snape had brought her to a house, it seemed. The small living room was cluttered with old furniture and clouded in dust. It was as though the place had not been inhabited for a number of years.

Two tall cabinets lined the opposite wall where she was standing. A tall bookcase was placed next to it, with heaps of dusty tomes arranged not too neatly on respective shelves. There were two long couches and a long coffee table at the far end of the room. Paint was beginning to peel from the white-washed walls. Cobwebs covered the two crystal chandeliers hanging above their heads on the ceiling. A dim and dull glow emitted from the chandeliers and Hermione could not suppress a shudder as she looked around the small and cramped place. The place had a dark aura around it.

She wondered where was this place. Perhaps this was one of the Death Eaters' headquarters, she gathered. Of course the Death Eaters would be pleased to offer their homes to serve the great Lord Voldemort, she mused.

She turned up her nose in disgust and turned on Snape, who had now seated himself on a small stool a few inches away from where she was standing and was regarding her with those hateful and contemplating black beetle eyes.

"You!" she hissed at Snape. "You pathetic, insolent, stupid, idiotic liar! How dare you betray us! How dare you kill Dumbledore! How dare you do all this to all of us! Traitor! You . . ."

"Enough!" Snape snapped and raised his wand. Hermione took a deep breath and continued. She ignored the dangerous glare Snape threw in her direction.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, you insolent . . . "

"I said enough, Granger! I have no tolerance for such rudeness, and I would not take such insults from an empty vessel and insolent know-it-all Mudblood like you!"

Hermione glowered at him, but said nothing. She pursued her lips tightly and looked at Snape with full of hatred.

"Now, if you will sit down, we will go over the plan. We don't have all day, mind you. Time is running out," Snape hissed coldly at her, gesturing to the couch opposite from where she sat.

Hermione moved towards the couch and sat down. It creaked slightly as she sank down on it. She hoped that it would not break. It looked fragile. The leather was peeling and the couch had an old and musky scent.

"I would not help you, Snape," she spat at him. "I have no intention of doing so. You can torture me as much as you like, but I will not betray my friends. I am not like you!" Hermione said, plastering a determined expression on her face.

Snape was quiet for a few seconds. Hermione could see that he was trying hard to control his anger. She could see his nostrils flare when she was mocking him. His grip on his wand tightened, and Hermione could see from where she was sitting that his knuckles were beginning to turn white. He was trying to calm down so that he could execute whatever stupid plan that his master had assigned him to do. Hermione was determined to not let him talk her into following his plan.

Snape let out a long sigh after a few minutes of silence and looked at her with the same cold expression that he had before. "Ms. Granger, I would ask that you listen to me before you continue with all your baseless insinuations," Snape finally said. His voice held no emotion, and Hermione was slightly taken aback by his reply. She was expecting him to curse her anytime soon.

She gave him a questioning stare as Snape leaned forward.

"Contrary to the whole wizzarding world's belief, I did not kill Albus Dumbledore," Snape finally said. His voice had gone softer, and Hermione find it strange that she could detect a sad look in his eyes.

What was he playing at, Hermione wondered. Was he just saying this in order to lull her to join him and the dark side?

"I don't believe a word of this," Hermione said quietly after a few minutes of silence.

"Believe what you like, Granger. I have no intention of lulling you to join the dark side, and neither did I have the intention to make you trust me. I am just doing what is asked of me by Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Hermione asked with disbelief. "How nice of you to put it this way, professor. Do you think that any person in his or her right mind would be stupid enough to believe what you said? Dumbledore is a great wizard, but he made the biggest mistake in his life by putting his trust on you, professor. You betrayed his trust and use it to your full advantage. Even if Dumbledore had planned anything at all, you no doubt had exposed all those plans to your dear master, Lord Voldemort."

"Granger, I will appreciate it if you hear me out first before interrupting me. As I said, we have not much time left. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"I will appreciate it if you stop beating around the bush and get straight to the point, professor. Please feel free to interrogate me and get any information you liked. I am not going to give you the satisfaction that you craved for," Hermione snapped and glared at Snape before casually leaning back on the couch. "Even if the light side loses, we will lose with dignity. We will not back down until the last minute. I am sure that Harry has already been captured by the others and was now on the way to his death destination."

"You think so?" Snape said, chuckling slightly as he straightened up and gestured for Hermione to follow him as he pushed himself up from the stool which he was sitting on. "Follow me, Granger."

Hermione trembled as she pushed herself up from the couch and followed Snape down the narrow hallway. She could not suppress the shudders that ran down her spine as they reached the end of the hallway, and Snape turned into another dark and narrow corridor which lead to a spiralling staircase.

Hermione could hear her own heart beating faster and faster as they began to ascend the steep spiralling staircase. She hoped that Snape would get this over with once and for all, whatever it might be. Plans begin to formulate in her brain. She would have to try everything possible to get herself out of here after Snape had obtained what he wanted from her. That is, of course, if she survived, she thought sadly.

As they approached the landing, Hermione realised with a pang that her wand was still with Harry. He had taken it when it was his turn to keep watch at the entrance of the tent. Her pulse quickened as she silently patted her jeans pockets. Relieved washed over her as her fingers connected with a small bulging object in one of the pockets. At least she had the sense to keep the beaded bag near her. It had everything in it; books, potions, clothing, etc. She felt save when the beaded bag was around. Perhaps there was still some hope left, she mused.

Snape finally turned into another long corridor which branched off towards the west wing of the house and lead Hermione towards a door at the far end of the corridor. Flaming torches lit the walls as they passed the narrow and long corridor. With a flick of his wand, the door swung open and Snape stepped into a brightly lit room. After Hermione had stepped into the room behind Snape, he closed the door silently and turned to face her.

The room was like a small office, Hermione noted. It was decorated using Muggle style. There were a few old Victorian paintings. A large wooden desk was placed at the centre of the room, while tall bookcases leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the room from where they were standing. A soft green and silver carpet ran the entire length of the room's floor, and a few straight-backed chairs were placed at one corner of the room. A tall leather armchair was placed near the wooden desk, and a crackling fireplace burned merrily at another end of the room. The crystal chandeliers flickered brightly, emitting a more lively glow as compared to those in the hallway downstairs. Snape must have been spending most of his time here, Hermione noted.

"Have a seat," Snape said, gesturing to one of the straight-backed chairs in the room. He levitated one of the chairs towards Hermione with a flick of his wand. He seated himself in the tall leather armchair near the desk and gazed into the fireplace for a few moments before turning back to face Hermione, who was now already seated on her chair, awaiting what is to come.

"Where is this place?" Hermione finally broke the silence after a few minutes.

"Spinner's End," Snape said. "My old home."

"Oh," Hermione said.

Snape was silent for a few more seconds.

"Are you ready for a little surprise, Granger?" Snape asked in a soft voice. Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Snape was looking at her with a weird expression on his face. His tone was less cold than before, and Hermione could detect some emotion in them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dawn was approaching when Snape leaned back in his chair. He sighed and looked at Hermione, who was sitting across from him.

Hermione's heart was racing. For the past five hours, she was in for the shock of her life. Snape had told her a few astonishing and shocking revelations. He had even shown her proof of what he had said by showing her certain memories which he had extracted from his mind. She viewed all of this with disbelief using the pensive sitting on the wooden desk in the room.

Hermione knew that Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him, as it was part of the plan. Dumbledore had to sacrifice himself in order for the plan to work. The deadly curse that had hit him when he destroyed Lord Voldemort's horcrux [the Gaunt ring] had marked his end. Snape was merely doing Dumbledore a favour, in giving him a quick and painless death. It would be convenient, as Lord Voldemort would not be suspicious and question Snape's loyalties. Snape was seen as helping Draco Malfoy to complete his assignment from the dark lord.

Snape was on their side, after all. He was a double agent. The only thing which puzzled Hermione was Snape's motive, which he refused to tell her when she questioned him about it.

"This is my personal business, and would have no importance to the task at hand. I dare say that it is completely irrelevant. Therefore, you would not need to know about it, nor would I wish to discuss it with you anyway."

"Fine," Hermione said. She was not ready to trust Snape completely.

Hermione had also learned that her best friend, Harry Potter was the dark lord's seventh and final horcrux. Lord Voldemort really managed to create seven horcruxes after all. No wonder Harry possess certain characteristics which were similar to the dark lord, such as the ability to speak Parseltoungue. Hermione suspected that Dumbledore had known this all along. He had kept this away from Harry as long as possible.

Hermione did not blame him, even though she could not help feeling angry towards Dumbledore. How could he delude all of the wizzarding world from this horrible truth? She was not prepared for this. Harry had believed that after he had destroyed the horcruxes, all would be well. He did not know that he had to die in order for the war to end and in order for Lord Voldemort to be destroyed once and for all. Someone else must kill Lord Voldemort after Harry's death, Hermione gathered.

Dumbledore was right. This was the only way around it. Harry was going to die. Lord Voldemort must destroy his own horcrux, and there was no other way around it. With a pang of sadness, Hermione realised that Harry had lived for nothing; nothing at all. He was going to die in the hands of Lord Voldemort, for neither would live while the others survived. To destroy Lord Voldemort, Harry would have to be destroyed to, in order to kill the filthy fragment of soul which had lashed onto his body for seventeen years. Seventeen long, dreadful, horrible, miserable years. The pieces of the puzzle finally clicked together nicely. Harry would not have to know this until the last moment, for it would drain his strength away. He would have no motivation to fight on. And Hermione knew why Dumbledore had planned all of this.

This was for the greater good.

Hermione suspected that Dumbledore did not tell Snape about the other horcruxes. As far as Snape is concerned, Harry Potter is the dark lord's only horcrux. Snape had no knowledge about the other horcruxes, judging from their conversation. He did not even bother to ask Hermione about what the golden trio were doing all this while, and Hermione has no intention to tell him anything at all. If Dumbledore did not need Snape to know about this, Hermione was going to play along with her late headmaster. Snape should not know what he is not supposed to know.

After viewing the memories in the pensive, Snape had told Hermione about the plan. Dumbledore had decided that Hermione was the key to everything. She would be the chosen one to complete the task.

"Why?" Hermione asked Snape with a questioning look in her hazel brown eyes.

"I have no idea whatsoever, Granger. As you know, Dumbledore had his own ways when dealing with such crucial matters, and he was a secretive person. Furthermore, it is not in my interest to know what he has assigned you to do."

Snape had then pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to Hermione.

"What is this?" Hermione asked, eyeing the envelope suspiciously.

"This is a letter from Dumbledore," Snape said. "You will find all the instructions for your task within this envelope. Do not open it now. You can open it later, when you have settled down."

"Okay," Hermione said, taking the envelope and pocketing it.

Snape took out a small box which was wrapped in brown paper from his cloak pocket, and gave it to Hermione.

"Dumbledore would like you to have this," Snape said, pressing the small box into Hermione's hands. "He had asked me to tell you to keep it safe after you discovered what is within it."

Hermione took the box from Snape and turned it over in her hands. Warmth coursed through her fingers as they connected with the box. A burst of energy shot through her body and Hermione felt weird all of a sudden. She wondered what might be hidden in the box, but she had no time to think about it as Snape rose to his feet.

"Time to go, Granger," Snape said, beckoning her forward.

Hermione nodded and rose to her feet as well. Her body felt stiff from sitting on the chair for a few hours without moving a muscle. She was so intrigued with what Snape had told her that she experienced mixed feelings as he progressed further into his account of the recent events.

Dumbledore's plan was for Hermione to go back in time, earn Lord Voldemort's trust and possibly friendship and try to find out the location of his horcruxes. She was to get close to Lord Voldemort and show him her loyalty. Then, when the time was right, she must kill and destroy the monster. However, Dumbledore had suggested that if she felt that there was other ways around it, perhaps killing the psychopathic murderer should be the last resort. Dumbledore had asked Hermione to try to show Lord Voldemort how to love. Hermione was not too keen on this matter. As far as she was concerned, once a monster, always a monster. A person's philosophy and way of life cannot be changed overnight. She was willing to give it a try, but she doubt that it would succeed. She still believed that destroying him and his horcruxes would be the ultimate solution for their problem.

Snape had handed her a memory in which she alone watched in the pensive, where Dumbledore had told her what to do. Dumbledore had also revealed something crucial to her. Snape should not know about this, Hermione gathered. She would keep this from him.

Dumbledore had told Hermione that if all went according to his plan, all would be well. The wizzarding world would not have to suffer the reign of Lord Voldemort. A lot of innocent lives would be saved.

However, Dumbledore also warned Hermione that the risk of this plan is unknown. Hermione's destiny would be at fate's mercy. She would not be able to return to her original timeline and would have to spend the rest of her life in the timeline she had gone back to. This was because there would be no time turners that would be able to bring her back to her own timeline. Dumbledore had only designed a specific time portal which would enable her to travel back in time. A special time turner would have to be activated by Snape in order to send her back in time. Hermione would be forgotten in this timeline and would begin a new life, according to Dumbledore.

However, she would still be able to remember her past life from this timeline for a period of time, before it all slipped away as her past would create a new life for her.

Nonetheless, Hermione sensed a slight hesitation in Dumbledore's manner when he related to her that she was the chosen one, and not Harry. When she tried to ask Dumbledore what he meant, she got no response.

Hermione nearly slapped herself after she had shouted at Dumbledore in the memory. Of course she would not be able to ask him anything, as this was merely a recorded memory. Dumbledore could not hear her questions at all.

Hermione made up her mind after pondering her options. She would do it, she decided. After all, the wizzarding world would be a better place without Lord Voldemort. She had nothing to live for, she decided. Her parents had already been discovered last September, and the Death Eaters have tortured them into insanity when Hermione failed to turn up during the Muggle Born Registration regime, where Umbridge had carried out the interrogation. She had known about this a few days after they had broken into the Ministry of Magic and obtains the locket of Salazar Slytherin. She had kept magical tabs on her parents, and the tabs would alert her if something had happened to them. She had borrowed Harry's invisibility cloak when the golden band which she had put on her right ring finger began to glow red. She had apparated away to London and obtained a copy of the Daily Prophet. It was then that she discovered the horrible truth.

Lord Voldemort had done it himself. He had captured her parents, tortured them into insanity and then mutilated their bodies. They were subsequently hanged to death near Godric's Hollow. Hermione felt furious, and vowed to take revenge. It was then that her desire to help Harry to succeed grew stronger.

She could not do anything about it at all. Harry and Ron had felt sorry for her, but she was sure that they could not possibly know how she actually felt. She finally understood how Harry felt when he had lost Sirius back in the Department of Mysteries two years ago.

She had nothing to live for. And if she succeeds, Harry would not have to die. Harry would not even be the dark lord's horcrux at all.

This thought comforted her. She had nothing to live for, she decided. A part of her died along with her parents. And she figured that she would not miss Ronald Weasley too much either. They have been old friends, and there was nothing more to it. Hermione had decided that her crush for Ron was only a little girl's crush, and it was time to put the end to her own fantasies. She made up her mind that there was never going to be anything between Ron and herself on the night he left the tent. They would be friends, and nothing more.

She would be doing the whole wizzarding world a great favour by vanquishing the darkest wizard of all time. She would gladly sacrifice herself for the task. She would not fail Dumbledore and the whole wizzarding world. She must be brave. Harry had gone through the past sixteen years full of bitterness, sadness and hope. Harry was so strong. Hermione, as his friend, must take him as an example and be strong.

No matter what the consequences are and no matter what it takes, she would go back in time and complete her mission. She might even be able to design a way to enable herself to be brought back to the current timeline if she wishes to do so, but Dumbledore had strongly advised her against it in his memory. He had stated that it would not be wise, as she would have change the future without knowing it and enter into an unfamiliar timeline. The consequences would be much severe than she would have intended it to be, he warned her.

Hermione had also been told by Dumbledore about his actual plan. Harry would continue to destroy the horcruxes in this timeline, but that will probably change once she gets back in time. Hermione also learned about the Deathly Hallows. She finally knew what the symbol in the Tales of Beedle the Bard represents. The Hallows represents everything. The final piece of the puzzle was solved.

Hermione doubted that the Hallows really existed. However, since Dumbledore said they did, she was willing to believe it. Harry's invisibility cloak was probably one of it, she figured it out. The alder wand was Dumbledore's own wand, as he had told her. It was the wand that he used ever since he defeated Grindelwald. Hermione wondered about the resurrection stone. Dumbledore had not mentioned it for a reason. She would have to discover it herself, it seemed.

Nonetheless, Dumbledore told her that the Hallows would not be an important part of her mission. It would have some use eventually, he told her, but she was to keep this in the back of her mind. The dark lord cannot know about this, Dumbledore warned her. Hermione understood perfectly well. If Voldemort was so keen on achieving immortality, knowing about the Hallows would open more doors for him to gain more power. He would no doubt seek out the Hallows and use them to his own advantage. Once he had become the true master of death, the wizzarding world would be doomed. They would be no turning back ever again.

Dumbledore had told Hermione in the memory that all they have gone through thus far [though Hermione find it surprising that her old headmaster knew exactly what they have been through even though he had preserved this memory at an earlier time. She figured that he must have asked Snape to give her this memory during this time period. How clever!] that part of their efforts would be wasted. There will not be much use in finding horcruxes once she was sent back in time. Everything changes the moment she disappeared from this timeline. The earlier stages of the plan was just to buy time and to ensure that Lord Voldemort was busy with the task of looking for Harry and did not pay much attention to what the light side is planning. Snape would be preparing the time portal to get Hermione back in time based on Dumbledore's written instructions, and Hermione will go back in time when the time was right.

After viewing the memory, Snape had given Hermione some time to ponder her option. She could choose either to accept or decline it. Hermione had of course pondered her options and accepted it. If she refused to accept her mission, then she can go back to the Forest of Dean and treat this conversation as nothing other than utter nonsense and forget about it altogether. Snape had asked her to weigh her options carefully, as there was no turning back once she had made up her mind.

"I accept," Hermione had finally said, with a tone of finality and determination in her voice.

"Are you sure, Granger?" Snape asked, giving her a contemplating look.

: Yes, professor. I would not fail Professor Dumbledore and my friends. I accept the challenge," she said in a confident voice and held up her head high to face her potion's master.

"Very well," Snape said.

They have sat there for another few minutes before Snape passed her the envelope and the box, which she had now stuffed into her beaded bag.

Snape held out his arm to Hermione, and she took it. Together, they turned on the spot and apparated away from Spinner's End.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Snape lead Hermione deeper into the Forbidden Forest as the sun begins to rise. He had assured her that Harry was fine. He had lead Harry to the sword of Godric of Gryfindor in order to distract him from the tent so that he would be able to bring her to Spinner's End to explain the plan to her. It would take him some time to notice that Hermione was missing, and it would not be a problem as Hermione would be gone by the time Harry realised that his best friend was missing. He might not even remember her at all, as she would be wiped out from this timeline when she travelled back in time.

"We need to be quick," Snape whispered as they continued to walk silently into the forest. "Some Death Eaters would be around, and I would not guarantee that we will be safe at all here."

There were under an invisibility cloak, which Snape had taken along with him before they apparated. Fortunately, the cloak was large enough to cover both of them.

"Almost there," Snape whispered. Thus far, everything went well. No one was following them.

"Professor," Hermione whispered urgently as a realisation suddenly hit her. "I don't have my wand."

"You got Potter's wand," Snape whispered back.

"Yes, but it is broken," Hermione said.

Snape was in shock. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" he asked. Hermione had told him earlier that Harry's wand was with her, and that Harry had taken her wand. She failed to mention that the wand was broken.

"I have no wand . . . "

"I think Dumbledore can fix that," Snape finally said. "Just go and see him when you arrived."

"Err, right," Hermione said. She hoped that Dumbledore would be able to help her.

They reached a small clearing at the middle of the forest. Snape stepped out of the cloak and walked towards the clearing. Hermione followed behind him and only took off the cloak when Snape had leaded her inside the clearing by flicking his wand to reveal a small entrance by the bricks, in which they managed to squeeze in.

Snape handed her another envelope along with a golden crystal flask.

"Give this to Dumbledore when you arrived," he instructed her. "This is from his future self, explaining to him about your presence."

Hermione stuffed them into her beaded bag as Snape produced a small shrunken trunk and handed it to her.

"This is your necessary supplies," Snape said.

"What time period will I be going back to?" Hermione asked as she turned the small trunk over in her palm.

Perhaps the 1940s, Hermione mused. She would be a student at Hogwarts, taking classes together with the young dark lord. That would be a good chance for her to get close to him and earn his trust and also his secrets.

"You will be travelling about 40 years into the past. That would be the year 1960."

Hermione was puzzled. The young dark lord had already left Hogwarts by then. Was she supposed to follow him to Albania to destroy his horcruxes and was she supposed to be one of his Death Eaters? She shuddered at this thought.

Snape's voice jolted her from her thoughts.

"You will be enrolling as a seventh year student at Hogwarts. There will be a few changes at Hogwarts, but I would not know what those changes were. Dumbledore had written it down in the letter addressed to him, and he would no doubt know about it."

"Okay," Hermione said, still puzzled. She wondered what she would have to do during the 1960s. Voldemort had already graduated and Hermione doubt that she would be able to do much by enrolling at Hogwarts.

However, she would figure it out soon as Dumbledore always have his own reasons, and Hermione had confidence in him. She trusted his judgments entirely.

Snape had now bent down and was busy tapping his wand on the dirty floors of the shack they were now in.

Hermione watched as thick layers of dust disappeared, revealing a golden circle at the centre of the floor. Runes were carved at different angles.

"Granger, please step into the circle," Snape said after a few minutes.

Hermione did as she was told.

"Good luck," Snape said. Hermione gave him a faint smile. Her heart was pounding faster and faster as Snape raised his wand.

"Tempus inglemoreal activation!"

The golden circle begins to glow as Snape waved his wand. He repeated the incantation for a few times, until the who circle glowed brightly. Snape took out a large hourglass from his pocket and placed it around Hermione's neck.

"Turn it counter-clockwise for 40 times. Concentrate on the year 1960. Do it when I have performed the final spell."

Snape's voice was barely a whisper. Hermione could no longer hear him as a sudden strong breeze began to blow around her. The runes around the golden circle begin to emit blue and golden flames. The flames grew hotter and hotter as the breeze grew stronger and stronger.

A silver light appeared at the far right corner from where she was standing. Her eyes were beginning to burn from all the smoke and wind. She could vaguely make out Snape's tall form as he moved around the circle, chanting strange incantations which were barely audible.

From the corners of her eyes, she saw Snape gestured for her to step towards the silver light. She moved with difficulty towards the light. As her foot touched the spot where the light was, the beam shot through her body. She let out a scream of surprise, as warmth spread through her body. She was now completely enveloped in the silver light. She was inside it. It was as though she had been swallowed into a bubble. She was engulfed in the bubble of light.

"Now!" she heard Snape's shout as she saw him gave a final swish of his wand. She could feel a strong vibration under her foot.

The vibration grew stronger and stronger as the wind and flames died down.

With trembling hands, she started to turn the time turner counter-clockwise, counting as she did so.

Shapes begin to blur in front of her. She felt herself moving backwards through time, but this was worse than her third year.

She closed her eyes and continued to turn the dial. She was not going to screw this up.

"Twenty-five . . . "

Her head was pounding. She was starting to feel dizzy.

"Thirty-five . . . "

Almost there, she kept telling herself. Her knees begin to buckle. The vibration under her feet was stronger than ever, and she tried to maintain her balance.

"Thirty-eight . . . "

Her vision began to blur. No more energy was left in her.

"Thirty-nine . . . "

Her hands were shaking so badly that she almost dropped the time turner.

"Forty . . . "

She turned the dial for one final time before letting go of the time turner.

The spinning stopped after a few moments and she collapsed in a heap onto a hard surface.

The last thing she remembered was the shattering of the time turner as she collapsed. The glass and sand begin to shatter into a million tiny pieces and melt away into her skin. The chain around her neck disappears along with the shattered pieces.

A searing pain shot through her chest as the glass pieces pierced her skin as they were completely absorbed into her body.

Darkness engulfed her vision and Hermione faded into oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3: A SECOND CHANCE

Author's Notes:

Hello readers!

I hereby give you chapter 2. Please let me know what you think. If any of you wish to volunteer to be my beta, do drop me a message. I sincerely appreciate your help.

Enjoy!

Note: Part of this chapter is taken from the text from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, with some little editing on my part.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 2: A Second Chance

15th December, 1959

Albus Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up in surprise when his gaze fell on a thick envelope lying at the top of a pile of papers at the centre of his desk. He did not remember coming across the envelope last night, when he was perusing his paperwork for the school. The letter – or whatever it might be – must have arrived this morning, he gathered. He hoped that it would not be another long and tiresome letter from Hector Fudge, the current Minister of Magic, asking him for advice on certain ministerial matters, or begging him to replace him as Minister of Magic when he resign the following year. He had already declined the position for three times in the past fifteen years, but the ministry officials, including the minister himself seems to turn deaf ears to his wishes. They continued to offer him magnificent salary, beautiful homes and all other sort of extravagances which he, Dumbledore, could not have cared less. Those officials should have known better to temp him with such absurd things.

Dumbledore exhaled and leaned back on the soft and comfortable leather armchair which he was sitting on. His goals and ideals have changed over the years. Ever since the first wizzarding war ended, Dumbledore had vowed to make a change – a change in his life which will dictate the path he will take for the rest of his life. The duel with Gellert had only been a mere consolation to him. He still could not fight off the bitter remorse after all those years. It was all his fault that his family was broken and destroyed. And deep down inside, Dumbledore knew that he would never be the same person again ever since that disastrous summer during his eighteenth birthday. A part of him died along with his beloved sister, Ariana, on that warm and tragic August afternoon.

"Yes," he mused. "Power corrupts. Too much power is not good. It makes us forget the other important aspects of life."

The war had ended well. To savour their last bit of friendship, Dumbledore had chosen to imprison Gellert instead of executing him. He could not bring himself to destroy his best friend, who had become what he had become today. He was partly to be blame for Grindelwald's deeds for it was he, Albus Dumbledore, who had first put that idea into the young Grindelwald's head. Thus, it was only appropriate that Gellert should suffer his defeat in a more humane way. Dumbledore did not believe that killing Gellert would ever ease his conscience. Guilt would haunt him till his very last days, he was sure of it.

That was why he had chosen to remain at Hogwarts; at least that was one of the main reasons he chosed to stay. He would not want to get to feel the power he most craved for when he rose higher into the ranks of the ministry until he gained complete control of the whole wizzarding population. He knew very well that he was capable of doing that, and he was afraid that he would forget himself and loose himself into the tangle of venomous tentacles and clutches of human greed. Greed would gradually turn into lust and more craving for power, the ability to control others and he may once again pursue the route he had almost pursued years ago. He was not going to lose himself to the deep and sweet seduction of power ever again. Thus, it is for the greater good – although he tried not to use the three tiny words if he could – that he remained at Hogwarts till the end of his days.

Another reason for him remaining at Hogwarts was to watch over the movements of a certain student. That particular student had haunted his memories ever since he left the school about a decade ago. He was sure that the student would return some day and try to ask for what he had been denied years ago. Dumbledore was not letting that particular student gain the satisfaction he craved. He knew that he had to keep everything under control as best as possible.

At one point during that particular student's academic years, Dumbledore had thought that he could help him out. He had saw a reflection of his young self in the student's eyes; young, daring, adventurous, the crave for power, lust and recognition and the great desire to succeed and rise above others. He was determined to lead the student away from the path which he had chosen. However, it never worked out in the end. The student was one of his greatest failures.

He had heard rumours that that particular student had managed to build up quite a strong alliance by now. Dumbledore feared for the wizzarding world. He was sure that there would be another war in the near future. He hoped that he would still live to prevent that particular war. It saddened him greatly that he would probably be the one to bring an end to the student's ambitions and dreams. If there was no other way around it, he might even have to end that particular student's life when they faced each other in the battlefield. There was no way that he would let said student destroyed the wizzarding world and tear it into parts.

It would pain him to destroy one of his most talented students which he and the other staff of Hogwarts had groomed and nurtured over the years. But he will do what is necessary if he had no other choice.

"Is there any other way around it?" the old professor sighed and rubbed his temples. A great sadness filled his face, making him looked ten years older than he was supposed to be. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom . . . I wish I could."

However, Albus Dumbledore was soon to find out that he was in for a pleasant surprise which would bring about a change in the whole wizzarding world.

The thick brown envelope sat on his desk, waiting patiently for its contents to be discovered by the great Albus Dumbledore, who was still lost in his own thoughts.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

17th December, 1959

Dear Headmaster,

I am pleased to inform you that I have finally return from a trip which I have embarked on over a decade ago. Throughout the trip, I discovered many interesting lessons in life and theories of magic which I believe would be highly useful in helping me to achieve the goals that I have set out to achieve. I bet that Hogwarts would be proud that one of its most talented students has managed to progress so far, which is certainly beyond all expectations. I do not seek any recognition from my previous statement, but I have to admit that I am secretly proud and satisfied with what I have gained thus far.

Therefore, I would like to take this opportunity to seek an audience with you on the 21st of December if it is convenient. I am sure that a little exchange is necessary after all these years, and I would also like to revisit my old and favourite Home, the magnificent Hogwarts castle which I had not set foot in since I graduated. Would you be so kind to allow an old student to pay his old professor a visit?

Eagerly awaiting your reply:

Lord Voldemort

Dumbledore stared down at the letter in front of him, smiling slightly. He recognised the bold and neat handwriting immediately even before he tear open the envelope.

"Finally," Dumbledore muttered. "It is just as I have predicted."

Dumbledore picked up a phoenix feather quill and wrote his reply at the back of the same piece of parchment before sealing the letter back into its envelope. He beckoned for Fawkes, and tied the letter to the phoenix's leg. Fawkes looked at him with huge amber eyes before taking off into the evening sky.

"This would be an interesting turn of events indeed," Dumbledore said, as he placed the tips of his fingers together and gazed out into the distance.

The contents of the thick envelope were all at the surface of his mind now. It was a long and detailed letter from his future self, explaining to him about certain dreadful events in the future. Although he did not like that idea at all, Dumbledore had to admit that it his future self would not have sent that letter if he was not desperate. He had to admit that his future self would know what he was doing.

"The chosen one will arrive next year," Dumbledore mused. He wondered just who might it be. Indeed, all that he have predicted was true. Tom Marvolo Riddle had really become a dark wizard in the future. However, his future self was wise to leave out as much details as possible, for no doubt that older version of himself knew the effect of disclosing too much to a person in a different timeline. It would change the events of the timeline drastically.

The letter had also contained a plan, which has been formulated by his future self. He was instructed to carry out the plan accordingly. Only half of the plan was known to him. The other half of the plan would be carried out by the chosen one once that said person arrived.

Albus Dumbledore was not a fool. He knew that he would have to carry out what his future self had asked him to do. His future self would not have made up such plans if he had no guarantee that it would succeed. He knew himself too well to trust his older self's judgment. All his decisions were for, alas, he had to admit, for the greater good.

"Perhaps this is the only way to make you turn back, Tom," Dumbledore said softly, watching snowflakes fall from the window of the headmaster's office. "I hope all would be well. I really hope so."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

21st December, 1959

Snow was falling heavily on the grounds below. Blueish flakes were drifting past the window in the dark and building up on the outside ledge. The castle grounds were covered with thick layers of frost. Dumbledore could make out the frozen Black Lake from where he was standing, near the window in the headmaster's office.

It was a cold and dark winter's night. Not even a single star was visible in the sky. Thick clouds covered the sky, blocking the moon from emitting its bright yellowish glow which was so warm to look at this time of the year. A cold breeze swept into the room, and Albus Dumbledore still stood unmoving, observing the castle grounds.

In the distance, he saw Hagrid leading a protesting boarhound across the grounds into a wooden hut near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He smiled at the sight of Hagrid. That giant of a boy was wonderful. Dumbledore enjoyed his company very much.

He looked out into the distance again, expecting to see what he hoped to see. There was still no sign of the familiar tall figure that would be walking up the castle grounds soon. His gaze lingered further, searching the grounds for certain signs of familiarity or movements.

To tell the truth, he had been anticipating this meeting. He hoped that it would turn out well, just as planned. Although he already had a guess about the purpose of the meeting, he was willing to let Tom to have the benefit of the doubt.

Dumbledore turned away from the window after a few minutes and sat down in the same old and comfortable leather armchair that he used to sit in for so many years now. He will wait patiently for Tom to come to him, he decided. After all, he had all the time in the world to deal with his former student that night.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Dumbledore straightened up and cleared his throat.

"Enter," said Dumbledore in his usual warm and friendly voice.

The door swung open quietly, and an all too familiar figure stepped into the office. Tall, thin and pale, the figure walked with his head held high and with a confident stride. The thick black cloak he wore billowed around him. Dumbledore could feel the strong dark aura surrounding him as the figure moved farther into the room. His magic was so strong, so dark and so captivating, dancing around him with each step he took, wrapping around him just like coils of dark and strong ropes, threatening to explode out of him any second if angered overtook him.

The figure surveyed the room for a while before closing the door quietly behind him. He then turned to face Dumbledore, who had placed the tips of his fingers together and was now surveying the face which he had know all too well behind his half-moon spectacles.

Much of his appearance had changed since Dumbledore last set eyes on this figure. The years which he had embarked on his trip had changed his features. He was no longer the handsome Tom Marvolo Riddle whom Dumbledore used to know a decade ago. It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the pupils of his eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Dumbledore would knew it would become in the near future. Indeed, his old self had enlightened him on the looks of Lord Voldemort in the future, and Dumbledore was shocked to learn that the once handsome young orphan boy, who looked so angelic and so innocent, had worked himself to become a twisted, horrible and sadistic monster with a snake-like face and destroyed body. There was even a mad and red gleam in those terrible bloodshot eyes as he surveyed Dumbledore's face.

Dumbledore continued to survey the figure who was standing opposite him, looking straight ahead of him as though he could not care less. His face was as pale as the snow glistening on his shoulders; his nose slightly out of shape; his full-lipped mouth strangely twisted into a horrible smile, his cheeks were sunken and hollow. As the figure lift a hand to brush off the flakes of snow from his cloak, Dumbledore noticed that his skin was paler and had an unhealthy pallor to it. He grimaced at the sight of the figure. He wondered what had his former student done that had made his appearance in such a terrible and unwelcoming state.

For a while, both occupants in the room was silent, each of them busy with their own thoughts. Outside, the snow was thickening and the night was getting colder.

Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Good evening, Tom," said Dumbledore easily. "Won't you sit down?"

Dumbledore gestured towards a straight-backed chair opposite from where he was sitting.

"Thank you," said Tom, sitting down gracefully on the chair.

After pausing for a few moments, Tom said in a slightly higher and colder voice than before, "I heard that you had become Headmaster. A worthy choice."

"I am glad you approved," said Dumbledore, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcomed," said Tom. "I have come a long way."

Dumbledore stood up and swept over to the cupboard at the far end of the room, which was full of wine bottles. Having handed Tom a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk.

"So Tom . . . to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore asked after both of them had sipped their wine and remained silent for a few minutes.

Tom did not answer at once, but merely continued to sip his wine.

"They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," he said. "These days, I am known as . . . "

"I know what you are known as," Dumbledore said, smiling pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid; you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I'm afraid they do not quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

He raised his glass as though toasting Tom, whose face remained expressionless. Dumbledore felt a deep satisfaction inside him as he continued to watch the flicker of annoyance playing across Tom's face. He knew that Tom understood quite well that his refusal to use the name Tom had chosen was a refusal for Tom to dictate the terms of the meeting. Dumbledore knew that Tom would not dare to cross the line between them now. At least not just yet.

Tom's cold voice jolted him out of his musings.

"I'm surprised you've remained here so long," Tom said. "I've always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

"Well," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "To a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remembered correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."

"I see it still," said Tom. Dumbledore could detect a red gleam in those horrible eyes, which used to be a beautiful shade of midnight blue where one could easily get lost in them just by looking at them for too long. "I merely wondered why you – who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who had twice, I Think, been offered the post of minister . . . "

"Three times at the last count, actually." Said Dumbledore. "But the ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Tom inclined his head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine. Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited, with a look of pleasant expectancy, for Tom to continue the conversation.

"I have returned," Tom finally said after another long pause. "Later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected, but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have."

"And would you care to enlighten me on what is it exactly that you wish me to give you, Tom?"

Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes surveyed Tom. He knew exactly what Tom had come for, but he was going to play his game his own way. Tom would have no choice but to play along with him. He knew that both of them knew the game well, and both can play it very well too.

Another red gleam flashed dangerously in those horrible eyes, and just as fast as it had appeared, it was gone. Tom, apparently sensing that Dumbledore was not going to give him the satisfaction he craved let out a deep irritated sigh and continued.

"I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place, as I have mentioned in my letter a few days ago. I could show and tell your students – the future generations of Hogwarts – the things they can gain from no other wizard."

Dumbledore considered Tom over the top of his own goblet for a while before speaking.

"Yes, I certainly do know that you've seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly. "Rumours of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Tom's expression remained impassive as he said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spauns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

"You called it 'greatness', what you've been doing, do you?" asked Dumbledore delicately.

"Certainly," said Tom, and the red gleam was now back in his eyes. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic, further, than perhaps, than they have ever been pushed . . . "

"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore corrected him quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remained, forgive me, woefully ignorant."

For the first time, Tom smiled. Dumbledore could sense that it was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage. His features looked more snake-like and twisted than ever as he glowered at Dumbledore.

"The old argument," Tom said softly. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."

"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," suggested Dumbledore.

"Well, then, what better place than to start my fresh researches in here, at Hogwartss?" said Tom. A smirk was begin to form on his twisted snake-like face. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I see. And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who called themselves – or so rumours have it – the Death Eaters?"

Dumbledore could tell that Tom had not expected him to know this name. He saw Tom's eyes flashed red again and the slit-like nostrils flared.

"My friends," Tom said coldly, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."

"I am glad to hear that you considered them friends," said Dumbledore. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

"You are mistaken," said Tom flatly. Dumbledore could detect no emotion in his voice. "I do not ask nor do I command other people to service me. They served me willingly, due to our years of friendship. And that is one thing, Dumbledore, that you are too blind to notice. I have friends who are willing to sacrifice their time and expenses for me, and I had not even begged nor try to persuade them to do so. They do it willingly, sincerely from the goodness of their heart. But I do not deny that I had a great influence over them. They looked upon me as their leader. I told them what was right and what was wrong; I helped them to recognise their own potential which are hidden in them; I helped them to realised their dreams of creating a wizzarding society that they desired; in short, we are united as a group, and we speak in one voice. Our goals are clear cut, our ideals are identical and we strive to achieve what is best for all of us. I hope that you understand what I mean, Dumbledore. After all, I might not want you to get the wrong idea, you know? Word of mouth may be deceiving in nature, and I'll appreciate it that you ensure that your sources – whoever or whatever they may be – are reliable ones."

Dumbledore gave Tom a quizzical look before he continued. "I am happy to hear that, Tom. In fact, I am starting to doubt some of my sources. The news that I've been given for the past few years have been, shall we call it, not too pleasant and quite disturbing? And permit me to ascertain one tiny little fact, Tom. After all, I have to make sure that my sources are wrong, as you said. I would have to seek out new ones. So, tell me Tom, if I were to go to the Hogshead tonight, I would not find a group of them - Nott, Rosier, Dolohov, Mulciber – awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."

There could be no doubt that his detailed knowledge on those with whom Tom was travelling with tonight was even less welcomed to Tom. However, he rallied it almost at once.

"You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barman," said Dumbledore lightly. Tom would not have guessed that it was his own brother who had ran the pub. Dumbledore planned to keep this piece of information away from him. At least he could ask Abeforth to spy on the meetings conducted there, and Tom would not suspect a thing.

"Now, Tom . . . "

Dumbledore sat down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers were placed together in a very characteristic gesture.

"Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

Tom looked coldly surprised. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Is that so, Tom? I have known you long enough to separate your lies than your truths. Correct me if I am wrong, Tom, which I doubt that I am," Dumbledore said, giving Tom a cold look before continuing. "You want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach anymore then you wanted to when you were eighteen. Tell me, what is it that you are after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Tom sneered. Dumbledore could sense that he was losing his patience and self control. The dark magic surrounding him was crackling around him, waiting to be unleashed by its master.

"If you do not want to give me a job . . . "Tom began coldly.

"Patience is a virtue, Tom," Dumbledore said.

"Come now, Dumbledore. Surely you can do better than that," Tom sneered. "I'll appreciate it if I could have a straight answer from you once and for all."

Dumbledore swallowed before he spoke. This is it, he decided. It was now or never. He must decide whether he would want to execute the plan that his old self had instructed him to carry out. There would be no turning back once he had made his decision.

Tom had stood up and was moving towards the door.

"If I may have your final word, I would be happy to leave you to your own peace, Dumbledore."

Tom was now inches away from the door. Dumbledore was still pondering his options. He decided to buy more time.

"I don't think for a moment that you expected me to give you the answer you wish to hear. You knew quite well that I would not be as easy on you as Armando Dippet. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have a purpose. May I know what that purpose is, Tom?"

"And what makes you think that I would tell you? What makes you think that I would trust you enough to tell you my agendas, Dumbledore?" Tom snapped coldly, turning his back on Dumbledore and placing a hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave.

"Again, I never expected you to tell me anything, Tom. I know that you trusted no one but yourself. But I would sometimes prefer to believe that we've form some kind of bond during your years at this school, no? As one of your professors, I consider myself lucky to have thought such an outstanding student like you, Tom. However, I must admit that I'm very disappointed with your choice of destiny. You've been looking and seeking knowledge from all the wrong places, and I, as your Transfiguration professor, would be happy to help you to make a better choice in your life. That is, of course, if you'll accept my help. Would you tell me now, Tom? What is it that you're after? I'm not unreasonable, you must know that," said Dumbledore.

"Don't waste my time, Dumbledore. I've more pressing matters to attend to. I have no time for joyful conversations by the fireplace or conversations over steaming cups of tea or goblets of wine. My time is better spent doing something else, something more worthy. And surely you would've known that I am not same as you? We're two very different persons. Our goals are different. What you want out of your life is not what I want out of my life. I only reserve my last bit of respect for you for old times sake." There was a flicker of annoyance in Tom's eyes, Dumbledore noted.

Tom's fingers curved around the doorknob, ready to turn it and leave the office.

Dumbledore surveyed him through his half-moon spectacles. Tall, dark, pale, thin and deformed. Dumbledore wondered whether there was still enough humanity left in that twisted and deformed body. Perhaps this would be the time to find out. This would be the last resort, he gathered. His future self was confident that all would be well, and he was willing to believe it at this very moment.

"For old times sake, you said? Yes, I understand, Tom," Dumbledore said softly. "Ah, but we've not met since you graduated. How do you know that I've not changed my mind on certain matters? As one grows older, one tends to have new perspectives of his own previous beliefs, goals and ideals. Old man's wisdom, they used to call it. Believe me, Tom, I think we still have a long way to go until you can surely said that we are living in two different worlds."

"Oh?" Tom's grip on the doorknob loosened, and he turned around to face Dumbledore. There was a slight crease on his forehead as he looked at Dumbledore.

"I am interested to hear about your future plans, Tom. And perhaps you can use a little help from me if your plans seems to make sense to me in a reasonable way. After all, you must remember that help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who seek for it," Dumbledore refilled his wine with a flick of his wand and did the same for Tom.

"Do you think that I'll be so naive so as to fall into your trap? I have no desire for you to manipulate me in the way you used to manipulate others around you, you stupid old coot!" Tom was very angry now. He started to turn away, but Dumbledore's next words stopped him.

"Language, my dear boy," Dumbledore said softly. "You better reserve your manners before I withdraw my offer, Tom."

"What offer? You have no right to dictate any terms here. We have no bargain, Dumbledore. I've come to ask for a job, and I take it that you've already refused my application . . . "

"On the contrary, I haven't given you my final word, Tom. I'm merely curious as to your purpose of being here tonight. However, if you have no wish to discuss this matter, I would not force you. Perhaps the discussion can be saved for another day. After all, we'll be meeting each other rather frequently, I guess."

"Meaning?" Tom's voice was colder than ever.

"My dear boy, don't you get it?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling madly behind his half-moon spectacles. "I've granted you your wish to teach at Hogwarts. I'm happy to offer you the post of Defence against the Dark Arts professor for next year. Our old defence professor, Professor Dolish is retiring next fall, and I haven't managed to find a suitable person to replace him. And since you've come here tonight to ask for what has been denied from you for the past decade, I, as Headmaster of Hogwarts deemed it appropriate to give you the job you wanted, as you wish."

This time, Dumbledore could see that Tom failed to hide the surprise from showing on his face. However, he tried his best to mask it by putting on an ugly sneer which made his nostrils flare.

"Come now, Dumbledore. Surely you can do better than to humour me with this. I take it that you must be joking."

"No, Tom. On the contrary, I am serious about it. You come to ask for a job, and I decided to give you one. Surely, the students of Hogwarts would be delighted to learn what you have gained from your experience. And didn't you just say that you may want to start your research on my theory that love is the most powerful magic on Earth? I am willing to give you the chance to explore new boundaries of magic, Tom. You may find surprising possibilities. And what better place to start than Hogwarts, with its magnificent towers and turrets and its strong, old and forgotten ancient magic that surrounded this castle?"

Tom was silent. His eyes surveyed the room before him.

"I see," he finally said. His face had once more slipped back into its emotionless mask.

"You must be tired after all these years, travelling to unknown places to explore new things. You can consider this as taking a break. It would also save me the trouble of looking for a suitable person to fill in the position. You are a brilliant and star student of Hogwarts, and I'm sure that Hogwarts would be happy if you would take up the post and pass on your knowledge to future generations."

Dumbledore pressed on when there was no response from Tom.

"Come now, Tom. Haven't you said that Hogwarts is the closest thing to home for you? I bet you'll miss the wonders of this castle. I am giving you an opportunity to relive your moments here. And as you've said earlier, your friends – if that's how you would like me to address them – can move on without you, I see no reason for you to refuse this great opportunity."

An undecided look crossed Tom's face as he took a step forward and look Dumbledore straight in the eyes. This was the first time he had done so ever since Dumbledore had left the orphanage after informing him that he was a wizard. Dumbledore could still see the distrust in those eyes, but he also detect something else. There was still a glimmer of warmness behind those horrible eyes, hidden beyond the layers of coldness and ugliness which had surrounded them. If he was able to restore that bit of humanity in Tom, it would all be well. He was willing to take the time to do just that.

Tom's voice jolted Dumbledore out of his thoughts. "Why the sudden change of mind, Dumbledore? I am pretty certain that you seemed keen to keep me away from Hogwarts, no? You're always against me back when I was at school. Why the sudden friendliness? May I know what are your intentions?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath and sighed. "I assure you, Tom, that I have no whatsoever intention. I am merely giving you an answer to the question you asked me. You asked me whether you can have the job. And I answered yes. That is all. Some things in life are meant to be kept as simple as possible, Tom. One would not think that everyone else has a motive of doing a good deed or merely doing another a favour. That is one point of life that I wish you to see, Tom. Life is not as complicated as one thinks it is. The only way to live life to the fullest is to keep things simple and look upon life as an exciting journey with new discoveries along the way."

"I see," Tom said. "So, I guess you would want my answer?"

"Yes, Tom. I do," Dumbledore said. "Maybe you would like to think about it carefully before giving me your answer. Perhaps we can leave this conversation as it is now and come back to it another time?"

"This is not necessary," Tom said. "I already have my answer, Dumbledore."

"And may I know what is it, Tom?"

"I accept your offer. One year would be sufficient for me to sort out things with my friends. There are certain . . . arrangements that I would need to see too. I assure you that all would be well and I would be happy to leave my friends on their own on the next summer."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly. "I am glad to hear that, Tom. You can move in to the castle by next August. I will have everything sorted out for you by then."

"Very well," said Tom. He looked at Dumbledore expectantly for a moment, before looking away.

"However," Dumbledore said after a few moments pause, "I have a few conditions that you must adhere to before I fully approve your request."

Tom smiled. He knew that this was not going to be as simple as it seemed, Dumbledore noted.

"Ah, I should have seen that coming, Dumbledore. What happened to the little speech of yours just now? The one that you've so joyfully preached, about keeping everything in life simple?" Tom said, his lips curving upwards to form a smirk.

"Ah, Tom. I see you are catching on quite well. I'm happy that I've managed to instil this point in you tonight. And forgive me, as Headmaster, it is my duty to ensure the welfare of all my staff and students are well looked after and protected. One needs to take the necessary precautions, if you know what I mean, my dear boy," said Dumbledore, taking off his spectacles and polishing them absent-mindedly.

"I see," Tom said coldly, losing his patience once more. "In that case, I would also like to bring to your attention certain conditions of my own too. If we failed to reach an agreement on this, then I'm sorry to say that I'll refuse the offer, despite how good it sounded."

"Very well, Tom," Dumbledore said. "Sit down, and we'll talk about it if you'll like. I'll be happy to accommodate your terms if it sounds reasonable. As I've said earlier, I am not unreasonable."

"There's no need," Tom said. "I find it more easy to talk when I'm standing. And I Hope that you'll get this over with quickly, Headmaster. After all, it would not be nice of me to keep my friends waiting for me on such a cold and bitter winter's night, eh? Mind you, they may get a chill and show their resentment towards me for being such an inconsiderate friend, wouldn't you agree?"

"As you wished," Dumbledore said. "I have only four conditions, Tom."

"Good," Tom said. "And I've only five conditions, Dumbledore. So, let's hear from you first, shall we?"

"Certainly, Tom" Dumbledore said, straightening up and clearing his throat. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a lemon drop.

"Care for a lemon drop, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, popping the sweet into his mouth after unwrapping it.

"No," Tom said. "I must say that your choices of candy disgusted me, Dumbledore. There is nothing worse than getting obsessed with filthy Muggle candies, you know."

"Everyone has their own taste, Tom," Dumbledore said, slightly offended.

"Hmmmmph," Tom huffed in annoyance.

"Now," Dumbledore said after a few moments of tense silence between them. "Firstly, I would appreciate it that you'll stick to the curriculum designed by the Ministry for the students of this school. You may broaden the scope of the subject slightly, but only with my permission. That would mean that you'll have to submit a teaching plan for me to peruse before next fall. I'll determine what is appropriate for the students of this school."

"Fine with me," Tom said, but Dumbledore could sense the anger which flashed across his face. As quickly as it appeared, it disappeared and the emotionless mask was plastered back onto his face.

"Secondly, I would allow you to use the Hogwarts library to aid in your research. I would appreciate it if you could send me a monthly report about the progress of your research, or you may wish to make an appointment with me to discuss this matter. After all, I'm very much interested to know what you'll discover. And shall we say, for old times sake, we can exchange our views on certain matters and compare our ideals?"

"Certainly," Tom said, but the anger was still apparent in his voice.

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Thirdly, I would appreciate it if you could concentrate fully on your job, and do not frequently get into contact with your so-called friends. This is only for a year, as you know. I'm sure they can manage well without you, judging from what you've told me."

Tom nodded but pursed his lips to form a thin line. His jaw was tightly clenched. Dumbledore decided that he was not going to back down and be easy on Tom. He wanted to keep him under his thumbs as much as possible.

"Finally, I would appreciate it if you could get along well with all the staffs and students at this school. If you have a problem with any of them, do not hesitate to tell me and I'll be glad to help you to sort out the matter."

Tom nodded.

"So, I take it that you agreed to all my conditions?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Tom said reluctantly. "And now, let's see whether you'll agree to my conditions."

Dumbledore smiled and gestured for him to continue.

"Firstly, I would appreciate that you do not question my teaching methods," Tom said. "Do not get me wrong, Dumbledore. This does not mean that I intended to deviate from the original curriculum, but I have the desire to show your students things that they could not get merely by sticking to the original curriculum. I must say that the Ministry is so narrow-minded that they refused to explore certain branches of magic and make full use of it. My class would both be an eye opener and new experience for your students and it would also broaden their horizon of knowledge and help them to gain self actualisation by recognising their potential at the highest level possible. Do know that I only wish the best for them. I would very much appreciate it if you would not question my methods in teaching. But I assure you that I would not attempt to step over the boundaries and teach your students the things that you disapproved of, Headmaster. You can have the full lesson plan by next summer, and you can then tell me what you deemed to be unnecessary for your students, and I, as a staff of Hogwarts would be happy to comply with your instructions."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, giving Tom a calculating look.

"Secondly, there would be no need for me to disclose to you things in my research which I thought you would not need to know. Let's treat such things as being personal in nature, shall we? What I wish to disclose to you would entirely be at my discretion."

"That is understandable, Tom" Dumbledore nodded.

"Thirdly, I would appreciate it if you would not enquire into my personal life outside Hogwarts. This is private and nobody have any business to know about it save myself."

"Of course, Tom," Dumbledore said. "That is true, and I would be happy to comply with your wishes."

"Fourthly, it has come to my attention that Hogwarts is now running a tutor-student mentoring session for students above fifth year. Thus, I would be glad if you allowed me to choose the students which I would be mentoring, instead of the standard practice of simply assigning particular students to me to be mentored."

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "May I ask why is that so, Tom?"

"Simple," Tom said. "I value my time. I also value talent and potential. I only take the best. Surely, you should have known about this, Headmaster, as I'm one of the best, as you so nicely put it? I would not wish to waste my time and energy on some students whom, in my view, do not deserve my attention."

Dumbledore gave him a weary look, but nodded slowly nonetheless.

"And your final condition, tom?" asked Dumbledore.

"You would permit to leave the castle and resign from my post if I wish to do so," Tom said, with another smirk.

"That is fine with me, Tom. You may leave whenever you like, but I hope it would not be in the middle of the year? That would result in inconvenience, as you very well know."

"I understand, and I assure you that I am not an inconsiderate person, Headmaster," Tom said. "I planned to stay at least one year. If I find that I enjoyed the job, I may consider staying longer."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Then, it is settled. I accept all your conditions. The job is yours, Tom. I'll owl you the necessary paperwork to complete your application in a few day's time."

"Got it," Tom said, straightening up. "I guess I'll be on my way, Headmaster. It's getting late, and I've some business to attend to before turning in for the night. I daresay that we'll be meeting soon."

"Very soon, Tom," Dumbledore said, giving him a tired but cheerful smile. "One year may pass in a blink of an eye, and you may not even notice how time flies."

"You're so obsessed with your silly little jokes and philosophies of life, Dumbledore," Tom said coldly as he neared the door to the office.

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore said.

"Good evening, Headmaster."

And with a swift gesture, he unlocked the door, stepped out of the office and closed the door behind him.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"I hope I made the right choice this time. Let's hope for the best," Dumbledore said as he stood up and reached out to stroke Fawkes who was perched on its usual spot, near the sorting hat and had been watching the exchange between its master and Tom Marvolo Riddle silently with big amber eyes.

"The next year would be an interesting one; wouldn't you say so, Fawkes?" Dumbledore asked, and Fawkes let out a soft, melodious moan.


	4. Chapter 4 The Chosen One

Chapter 3: The Chosen One

16th August 1960

Pain.

Terrible, horrible and excruciating pain.

That was the first sensation she experienced when she came to herself again. Her head was pounding painfully, her neck was throbbing and her whole body was cold, sore and numb.

She gulped in a few breaths of air. The scent of fresh pines, willow barks, birches and the musky scent of fresh morning dew filled her nostrils. The air was so refreshing, she noted. Slowly, the numbing and suffocating sensation she experienced subsided and she relaxed a little.

Had it worked, she wondered, her heart thumping madly as the seconds ticked away. It should have at least sent her somewhere, she was certain of that point. She could tell that she was no longer in the stuffy and dirty little clearing where she had been in some time ago. However, she was certain that she was still in the Forbidden Forest, judging by the chirping of birds in the distance and the fresh scents of plants all around her.

She could not gauge how much time has elapsed since she had passed out cold. The last thing that she could remember was a hot and searing pain as the time turner shattered into a thousand small shards and cut into her flesh.

With a trembling hand, Hermione brought her fingers towards her chest, and started to feel around the place where the shards of glass from the time turner had cut into her soft skin. She could feel a hot and sticky substance around the small area of her chest. The time turner must have opened up a deep gash, she gathered. However, surprisingly, she did not feel the throbbing pain in that part of her body. It only prickled slightly as she touched it gently with the tips of her fingers. Dumbledore must have designed the object in a way that it would cause her the least pain as possible, and she was grateful for it.

She began to feel the rest of her body, to see if there are any broken bones or injuries. She found that nothing was out of place, save for a huge bruise on her left arm, which, she gathered, was caused by Snape earlier when he gripped her elbow to apparate them away from the Forest of Dean. This was no big deal, as it would gradually heal. She was grateful that Snape had not cursed her at all. After all, she still did not trust him completely. She only performed what was asked of her by Dumbledore. Snape was just a third party, whom duty was only to pass on her late headmaster's instructions. She had no reason to suspect Snape of any kind of foul play, as the evidence that he had shown her was convincing enough. Or was it? He could have fabricated all those evidence, as far as she was concerned. His loyalties were still unclear. Nonetheless, she figured that she could do nothing about it now, as she had already been sent to another time period. She had made her decision, and now she would have to suffer the consequences of it. She had trusted her heart in making her choice. Snape did not force her into it. She was merely doing what was asked of her by Dumbledore. What lies ahead was not a bright path, she was sure of it.

For one, she had still not managed to figure out her purpose of being in this particular time period. Dumbledore had sent her approximately 40 years into the past. Snape had told her to focus on the year 1960. What could her mission possibly be? As far as she was concerned, the dark lord had already left Hogwarts about a decade ago. There was nothing which she could do to find out more about his horcruxes or get close to him. He was probably somewhere in Albania now, she gathered, gathering up his forces and strengthening his alliance. What was Dumbledore playing at, she wondered.

A thought suddenly struck her, but she quickly pushed it away. It was not possible. She had thought that Dumbledore had perhaps sent her to this time period to keep watch and protect Harry's parents. But this was not possible, as Harry's parents would not be attending Hogwarts for another decade from now. She sighed softly, and shifted slightly. She experienced a stabbing pain in one of her ankles. She winced in pain, but muffled her screams. She must have twisted her ankle when she landed.

The pain subsided gradually, and she was back to her thoughts. She hoped that she would be able to figure out her task soon enough. It certainly did not look as easy as it had sound. She should have made some planning and preparations first before plunging blindly into her task. She should have asked Snape to give her more time to think about all of this. But she had not done so. Her Gryfindor spirit was too strong, and she would not like to suffer another round of insults from Snape before leaving. He was certainly not a very nice person to deal with, even though he carried out his orders efficiently.

"Well, I would just have to find that out myself," Hermione mused silently. "There is no turning back now, is there?"

After a few moments, in which she gathered up all the energy left in her, she slowly opened her eyes and observed her surroundings. Sunlight was streaming through the small gaps left by a few tall birches and weeping willows, which was some distance away from where she was lying. She could tell that morning was approaching soon. She looked around again and found that she was lying on a soft grassy spot where the trees had begun to thin. The small clearing that Snape had ushered her into was nowhere to be seen. She gathered that she was at least in a different timeline now, but she could not be sure of the actual time period.

"Well," she muttered to herself absent-mindedly as she felt in her pocket for the beaded bag – the bag who had accompanied her on many of her adventures throughout the horcrux hunt, and had held the key to everything she needed. She pulled the bag out of her robe pocket and was just about to open it when a pang of realisation hit her.

"How could I be so stupid?" she sighed, slapping herself hard.

She had wanted to pull out her wand and check the time and date, but she now remembered that she had no wand, except Harry's broken wand. Her wand was with Harry, back in her previous timeline, which she was now sure was her past life.

"Great," she muttered. "Just great. Hermione Jean Granger, stranded in an unknown timeline without a wand, defenceless and useless. Could things get any worse?"

The prospect of not seeing any of her friends ever again saddened her a little. She would never be able to look into Harry's beautiful green eyes, nor will she is able to snuggle close to Ron and held his hand when she was afraid. Never again would she see the messy tufts of black hair and the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, nor would she see Ron's flaming red hair, freckled face and lanky frame again. She was not going to see Ginny and the others again, and she would not be able to enjoy Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking and the warm and cheerful atmosphere at the Burrow. She would never get to visit her parents' graves. Of course, she mused, these things would be possible if the war could be ended. And with that, she was brought back into reality. She was the key to everything. Dumbledore had told her so, hadn't he? If she succeeded, more than one innocent life could be spared. She was the chosen one to complete this mission, and she was not going to fail and disappoint all of them. She squared her jaw determinedly and blinked back the tears that threatened to leak out of her beautiful hazel brown eyes. This was for the greater good, she kept on reminding herself. If she could stop the cause at its root, all would be well. The wizzarding world would enjoy a brighter future, and perhaps she would have the will to live long enough to see her friends again. Of course they may not be able to recognise her, she thought. No one can predict how would she affected the timeline. Nonetheless, she would still seek comfort just to gaze at a sea of familiar faces which she had seen for so many years. If she lived long enough, she may have a slight chance of seeing them again.

Lupin, Thonks, the Weasley family, Harry, Neville, Hagrid and many more. She smiled faintly as their faces popped up in her mind. She would change history for the better; she was determined to succeed, no matter what it takes. She was willing to sacrifice her own life if that was what it takes to alter the cold and harsh destiny that fate has placed onto the wizzarding world in the years to come.

After sifting through her thoughts for a few moments, Hermione stretched and started to plan her next moves. She figured that she could not waste much more time. She still did not know whether the plan had worked, but she hoped with all her heart that it had worked and she had been sent back to the right time period.

"Please let it be 1960," she muttered as she ran a hand through her untamed mane of bushy brown hair. It had become much frizzier ever since she spent her days camping in the wild while she and the others were on the run and hunting for horcruxes.

Her biggest problem now was not having a wand. She was not very good at wandless magic, despite her attempts of trying it out. She only managed certain tasks without a wand. Non-verbal spells were fine for her, but all the same, those would require a wand. She was dead without her wand.

Making up her mind, she straightened up and pushed herself to her feet. She stretched slowly, and the stiffness gradually left her muscles. She would have to get a wand first, she gathered. She would have to walk to Hogsmeade and apparate to Diagon Alley, so that she would be able to purchase a wand. She would also have to open a Gringotts account and place certain items in her beaded bag into the vault, as they did not belong in this time period. She did not wish to arouse suspicion among the people, as she would no doubt be at the centre of their attention. She had no wish to put herself in the spotlight. She had a job to do, and it would help if she stayed discreet. She would have to book a room at the Leaky Cauldron and stay there for the night, as she still needed to find out what is it exactly that Dumbledore had asked her to do. The envelope and small box which Snape had given her was still in the depths of the beaded bag, and they were calling out to her. As much as she was tempted to open them here, she decided that she could not risk it. Someone may sneak up on her while she was absorbed in deciphering her task, and her cover would be blown. Better be safe than sorry, she gathered.

She rummaged in her beaded bag for Harry's invisibility cloak. Once again, her jaw dropped. She had forgotten to tuck Harry's rucksack into her beaded bag before she left. Everything which Dumbledore had given them except for Ron's deluminator was stashed away in the rucksack; the Tales of Beedle the Bard, Harry's invisibility cloak and the golden snitch. She figured that those items were not important to Harry now, as she had journeyed to another timeline, and Dumbledore had told her that once she was sent back in time, everything changes. God knows what had become of the future she had left behind. She hoped that all is well. However, she had a problem now. She would be seen by the people on the streets of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley if she walked out of the Forbidden Forest in this manner. Worse still, someone from the Hogwarts grounds may notice her and get suspicious. Her appearance, which was unkempt and haggard and her ragged and baggy clothing would attract unwanted attention.

"Great, Snape. Sent me back in time without giving me a single hint about how I should blend in!" Hermione scoffed.

It was then that she remembered something. Maybe there was something that she could use in the trunk that Snape had given her. After all, he had said that it contained everything she needed when she arrived in this new timeline. She fumbled in her beaded bag for the small trunk and brought it out. She would have to perform some wandless magic to enlarge the trunk and then shrank it back into its original size. She smiled. She could do such simple magic. This was child's play, she figured.

A slow smile stretched across her face. She held the trunk tightly in her hands, and closed her eyes. She concentrated hard and channelled her magic from her body to her fingertips. A warm sensation enveloped her body as her magic tingled within her. She could visualise the trunk growing bigger and bigger in front of her eyes. She held her magic together, ready to release it when she was ready. A burst of energy coursed through her body.

"Engorgio!" she thought. She could feel the trunk growing in her hands. She released it and placed it onto the ground as it grew bigger. She stopped the spell when the trunk was big enough.

She opened the trunk and looked inside it. There were an assortment of clothing, definitely from the 60s style, she gathered, judging by the long skirts and thick blouses. There were also a pile of textbooks and potion ingredients, a brand new cauldron, some quills and ink and a few rolls of parchment. There was a leather pouch, with a significant amount of money in it. But one thing was missing there: a wand.

"Ah," she smiled as her fingers brushed against something soft and silky. She had a feeling she knew what it was, but she had to make sure all the same. This was indeed what she needed the most. Slowly, she pulled it out from the depths of the trunk, and looked at it.

It was just what she had suspected: an invisibility cloak. However, she could tell that this cloak was not as great as Harry's invisibility cloak. Of course, she mused, Harry's cloak was a legend; one of the deathly hallows, according to Dumbledore. But this was better than not having a cloak, she decided. She could put this to good use for now.

Quickly, she pulled off her clothing, and pulled on some clothing she found in the trunk. She donned a blue floral blouse with a matching skirt with pleats which reached down to her ankle. She exchanged her pair of worn out trainers with a pair of sleek black heels. Finally, she sprayed some perfume, as she could tell that she was stinking badly as a result of not bathing for a few days now, and tied back her hair in a tight bun. She was lucky to find some hair products in the trunk. Snape had probably outdone himself in purchasing such items for her, she mused. But she would have to thank him for it in the future if they ever met, as these items were handy now.

She took about ten minutes taming her frizzy brown hair into soft wavy curls which cascaded down her back elegantly. Next, she applied some makeup to cover up a few scratches on her face which had not fully healed yet. Hermione was never the one who fancied dressing up and putting makeup, unlike Parvati, Lavender and Ginny back in her time. She would rather not waste her time by beautifying herself, as her looks were plain enough. Her bushy hair and large front teeth would make her look out of place, even if she applied lipstick and rouge, in her opinion. Her time was put to better use in the library; filling her brain with knowledge which would always be useful to her. Knowledge is the key to everything, as she had always believed. Thus, this philosophy had kept her away from the others, as she would sit in the library for hours and hours, thumbing through tome after tome. She often forgot the time as she lost herself in her sanctuary. The others often teased her about her habits, and have tried to coax her into joining them for their various makeup sessions, but Hermione managed to decline each and every invitation by giving them a valid excuse. She honestly did not care at all how others perceived her. She had Harry and Ron as friends, and that is considered as enough for her.

However, she gathered that she had no choice now. People would get suspicious when they saw her face. She had scratched herself badly during the escape from Bathilda Bagshot's cottage. Glass had cut into her skin as she grabbed Harry and spiralled out of the window to apparate away from that dreaded place.

She shuddered involuntarily as the memory surfaced in her mind. She looked around her apprehensively, expecting someone to jab a wand into her neck or point it at her any moment. To her relief, nothing was out of place. She was alone in the forest. She was safe. The worse was over, and she would have to alter the path of destiny now.

Gingerly, she powdered her cheeks lightly, darkened her eyes with some mascara and applied some lipstick. She huffed irritably as she tried to patch up some areas where the mascara was smudged. She was really not an expert in this kind of silly thing. After looking at her reflection in a small hand mirror which was provided in the makeup kit, she straightened up and smiled satisfactorily. She deemed her first attempt at beautifying herself to be passable, and she was secretly proud of herself for having to pull it off so well. She stuffed everything back into the trunk, shrank it using wandless magic and placed the trunk back into her beaded bag. After that, she threw the invisibility cloak over herself, tucked the beaded bag under her arm and was ready to go.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

By midday, Hermione emerged from the forbidden forest, feeling slightly exhausted. It seems that she have landed in a spot which is rather deep into the forest. Perhaps it was the place where Snape had build the clearing earlier, she figured. After all, she remembered that they had travelled rather deep into the forest before reaching their destination. Come to think of it, it was actually the same route which she had taken earlier before arriving here. The forbidden forest has not changed much after all. There were the same trees, same little insects, birds and small plants. She was lucky that she had not run into other creatures such as unicorns or centaurs. She had no desire to be injured, say, by an arrow from a centaur's bow at the moment.

The sun was shining brightly when she stepped away from the thinning trees and approached the Hogwarts grounds. There was a wooden hut in the distance, which belonged to Hagrid in her time. She wondered whether Hagrid was occupying it now. If she had arrived in the correct timeline, she figured that she was already here. As far as she remembered, Dumbledore had kept Hagrid as the groundskeeper's assistant after he was being expelled from Hogwarts in 1942. Dumbledore had faith in Hagrid, and he was convinced that Hagrid was innocent. Hermione was glad that her late headmaster was compassionate enough towards Hagrid and was willing to believe his story. After all, Dumbledore was a wise man, and he knew how to separate the truth from the lies.

Anger boiled up in her when this memory surfaced in her mind. This was all happened because of one person, and she was going to make said person pay, whatever it takes. She was already here, and she did not care how she would meddle things up. She was convinced to put the future dark lord in his place and make him experience the pain which he had so conveniently put others through without sparing a single thought. He was a psychopath, and she was not even going to let him have the benefit of the doubt that he would turn over a new leaf any time soon. The faster she gets rid of his horcruxes, the better. She was not going to teach him how to love and make friends or all the other nonsense, as she knew that it was already too late and he could no longer be saved. Clearly, Dumbledore was somewhat delusional when he thought that Hermione could still help the future dark lord at this point in time. Personally, she felt that there would only be a ten in a million chances that this latter plan would succeed.

It is better to tackle the enemy by recognising their weaknesses, destroying his strengths and then leave as soon as everything was settled. She would have to be witty, cunning and courageous at the same time when she was performing her task. She could not afford to make any mistakes or slip ups. She would be doomed if the future dark lord knew of her intentions. She would be cursed into oblivion, or even blown of the earth in the blink of an eye. She would have to be extremely careful, as she was treading in dangerous waters. One might fall and drown in them if they missed a crucial step, and there will be no point of return by then.

She could see the huge bulk of the castle as she turns away from the wooden hut and walked further up the grounds. A sense of familiarity overtook her. She was home. The all too familiar towers and turrets loomed above her in the distance, the glittering windows calling out to her. She could just feel and smell the sweet scent of flowers and grass on the slopes leading up to the big double front doors. She could picture the entrance hall beyond the door, its brilliantly lit walls and the large round hourglass which held the house points, which is represented by four different precious stones; there would be the Great Hall next, with its enchanted ceiling, the portraits along the walls of every corridor, the moving staircases, the commonrooms with their cosy fireplace and soft plush chairs, the dormitories, with their soft and warm four-poster bed. Oh, how she missed Hogwarts! She was home at last, back where she belonged, where the beautiful and great castle was free from destruction now. It was so peaceful just standing there, invisible, admiring the great architecture of her second home, breathing in the sweet scent of late summer [judging by her surroundings], without having to worry about any war. Hermione felt relaxed as her eyes took in the full view of the castle. She stood rooted to the spot for a few more moments, imagining what it would be like to wander the castle again. She would eventually get the change to do so, she gathered. After all, Snape had told her that she would be enrolled as a student there this year. Her spirits rose a little as this thought entered her head. She would be able to visit the library again and sleep in the soft bed and enjoy the wonderful meals served in the Great Hall again. She would only need to figure out her plan first – what is her actual purpose of being here – before settling in, and she was determined to figure it out soon enough. Her sense of longing for the comfort of the castle was clutching at her; she missed Hogwarts greatly. The castle seems to call out to her; its magic wrapping around her, attracting and entrancing her senses with every step she took.

With great effort, she turned away from the castle, and started to make her way towards the gates. She passed the black lake, its black surface glistening as rays of sunlight reflected on its surface. The small trees around the bank provided some shade from the hot sun. She walked slowly, watching her steps and making sure to muffle her footsteps as best as possible. She could not take any chances and risk being discovered by someone, in case he or she decided to take a stroll on this pleasant day and enjoy the beautiful weather.

As she rounded another corner, she wondered whether her favourite tree by the lake had been planted yet. It was a tall beech tree, with huge leaves which used to serve as shades. The leaves were an unusual colour, as they did not look like normal beech tree leaves. It was green, with bits of silver all over it, making it look like a beautiful patch of cross stitching. The branches were laced with silver, and the tree trunk had an elegant curve to it, making it look like a comfortable back of an elegant armchair, so that one could lean on it. She had never seen any tree like that before. It was near the lake, overlooking the forbidden forest and Hagrid's wooden hut. Some of the greenhouses were also visible from the spot. She had discovered this spot one day during her fifth year, and had shared it with Harry and Ron. This was a perfect place to discuss anything which they deemed not safe to be discussed around the others. Besides, she often found the spot to be relaxing and cooling, and it would be a nice spot to do her reading. The tree trunk was surprisingly soft and cosy to lean on. She figured that some kind of enchantment had been placed on the tree to make it that way. The person who planted the tree was so creative and thoughtful, she mused when she first discovered the tree. The spot was also quiet and secluded, away from the usual spots which students liked to hang out when they are out and about on the castle grounds.

Curiosity had the better of her, and she decided to check whether the tree was there. After all, it really could not do much harm, she gathered. She would just crept quietly along the bank of the black lake and see whether the tree was there. She would just take a quick look and then she will be off. She would know the tree by first glance, as she was so familiar with its shape and form by the end of her fifth year. One quick glance will give her the answer she needed.

Cautiously, she crept quietly around another corner and glanced up when she was about a few meters always from where the tree was supposed to be. Her heart leapt when a familiar patch of green and silver caught her sight. Her eyes traced the familiar outline of the tree, its thin and slender branches and the elegant curving tree trunk. Her heart leapt with excitement. Her tree was already planted, and she would be able to retreat to this spot when she was enrolled here later.

As she was about to turn away, something else caught her eye. She blinked and squinted more closely at what she had saw. Her heart sank. It seems that someone was a step ahead of her in this time period. Someone had already discovered this spot. Hermione was slightly disappointed. She figured that she would not be able to have this spot to herself any longer.

There, sitting beneath the trees and well hidden by the shades, was a figure. She figured that it was a male, judging by the silhouette, but she still could not be sure. The figure wore a long black cloak, and was leaning back on the tree trunk. She could not see the figure's face, as it was being low over a thick tome. She could just see the edges of the thick and dusty leather-bound tome from where she was standing. She stood there, observing the figure. Occasionally, she could hear a page turning. She heard a rustle as a page was turned. Unintentionally, she took a step forward.

Crunch!

A twig snapped under her foot. Hermione let out a muffled cry as her heart jumped. The figure moved a little and looked up. Swearing under her breath for her stupidity, Hermione quickly turned and backed away silently. She hoped that the figure would thought nothing of what he or she had heard, and go back to reading the tome. She crept silently away from the spot as fast as possible. When she was sure that she was far enough, she dared a glance over her shoulder. She let out a breath of relief. The figure had went back to reading, with his or possibly her; head bent over the thick tome once more.

"Lucky you, Hermione Jean Granger. Next time, think before you decided to do something stupid like this. You would not be lucky always."

She approached the castle gates. She stood there for a moment, not knowing how to get pass the various enchantments of the castle to get outside. She should have thought about this earlier. She did not have a wand with her, which made it more difficult than ever. She had to get out of the castle and head to Hogsmeade, as there were anti-apparation charms inside the castle. She would not be able to apparate anywhere if she was stuck in here.

She hoped that someone would be here to open the gates, so that she could sneak out silently before it was closed again. But who was she kidding? This was probably the summer, and all the staff were either on holiday or cosily enjoying the weather inside the castle. No one would want to go out, unless there are errands to be carried out.

She should think fast, or she would not be able to get to Diagon Alley soon enough. A plan would have to be formulated.

Just then, she heard footsteps from outside the gate. Her heart began to thump excitedly. She looked up and sure enough, a figure was approaching the gates. An all too familiar figure. Tall, lean, with mismatched robes, auburn hair which was turning silver, a long beard and twinkling blue eyes. Hermione's stomach lurched. She wanted to cry out in joy and hug her late headmaster. Seeing him bring back so much life in her. She felt happy, strong and secured. No one would be able to harm her when Dumbledore was around.

Nonetheless, she managed to control herself. She figured that this was not the right time to make her presence known. Dumbledore would bound to get suspicious when he saw her. Hermione could not blame him for this. After all, one would bound to get suspicious when they saw an unknown stranger standing a few inches away from the castle gates and calling out an introduction to one who had not seen her before. The introductions could wait later, Hermione decided. The important thing now is for her to get out of here safely and apparate to Diagon Alley in order to execute her plan.

She waited for Dumbledore to unlock the gate patiently, making sure to not move a muscle. After a few minutes, she could hear a series of clicking as Dumbledore undo the enchantments on the gate with his wand. Finally, after seems like forever to Hermione, there was a final click and the gates swung open. Hastily, Hermione took a few long strides and was outside the castle grounds in a matter of seconds. She almost brushed against Dumbledore as he strides into the grounds. He did not have any indication of recognising the slight contact as he directed his wand at the gates and locked them behind him before striding up towards the castle.

Hermione let out a breath of relief before continuing on her way.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lord Voldemort was enjoying himself. The weather was beautiful. The shining sun and the sweet scents of flowers and grass entranced him and drew himself outside the castle. He was already in a very bad mood, after his argument with the old coot of a headmaster yesterday.

The old codger had mocked him, taunts him and ridiculed him by drawing unnecessary conclusions and attaching particular concerns which were, in Lord Voldemort's opinion, completely insignificant and foolish. He had expected that Dumbledore would reject some parts of his lesson plan, as he knew quite well that what he had intended to teach the students was well out of the boundaries of Hogwarts curriculum and was extremely dark stuff which Dumbledore would not have approve at all. The old coot cared too much for his students, trying to be protective of them. However, Lord Voldemort knew the actual reason the headmaster refused to let him spread his influence on the other students – he was worried that Lord Voldemort would swing some of them to his side in no time at all.

Lord Voldemort had scoffed at that idea. If one was going to switch sides, he or she would have to do it willingly. He was not one who would force someone to join his alliance. One must possess the appropriate attitude and ideals in order to be accepted for his alliance. Those who wanted to join him, but were deemed to be unworthy would be ignored or worse, tortured if they insisted to join him despite being rejected. He had no time for such child's play. He had more important things to settle – strengthening his alliance and trying to swing influential authorities to join him.

Therefore, Lord Voldemort was not surprised when Dumbledore had owled him a day after he had sent his lesson plan to the headmaster's office. However, his judgment was wrong again this time – as it would always be the case if Dumbledore was involved – he noted sullenly as he read the headmaster's letter, which requested a meeting as soon as possible. He had clearly underestimated the old codger yet again. Not only were the darker stuff which he had inserted into the lesson plan rejected, Dumbledore had the nerve to reject his whole lesson plan. He had asked, in an all too familiar tone, fixing Lord Voldemort in a calculating stare: "I hope that you knew what you are doing, Tom. Clearly, I doubt that you've misunderstood me when I say that you should stick to the curriculum as close as possible? What part of our agreement did you not understand, Tom?"

He had glowered at Dumbledore, as he snatched the lesson from Dumbledore and set it ablaze with a flick of his wand. He was fuming, and the dark magic around him crackled furiously in the air. Dumbledore pretended not to notice, and continued to gave him a questioning look.

"And what part of my terms did you not understand, headmaster?" he asked coldly after a few moments of silence. "I remember telling you that my teaching style is entirely free from any scrutiny. The students would be thought things which they could not learn simply by studying and memorising. Come on, Dumbledore. Surely, you, as the headmaster would have the desire to watch your students march out of Hogwarts with glory? What better what way to do this than by providing them with quality education? This is a lifetime experience which, I assure you, they can gain from nowhere and from no one. I will provide the best for them. Hence, I don't see any problem at all with my lesson plan."

Dumbledore had remained silent for a while, before speaking again.

"Not all the material you intended to introduce to our students is suitable, in my opinion. . ."

"Magic is might," he had cut Dumbledore off. "Those who failed to recognise and utilise their true potential would be nothing. There is no good and evil, there is no dark and light. The thin lines between these two concepts had let to distorted beliefs amongst the wizzarding community. I am rather disappointed in the people's mentality nowadays. Narrow-minded, refusing to accept change and refusing to explore the boundaries of magic. The different branches of magic are very interesting to study, I am sure you will agree with me on this point, headmaster?"

"Tom, how I wish I can agree with you, but I just simply cannot bring myself to side with you for this once. I literally held the same philosophy like yours in my youth, and I am sorry to say that it did not work out well with my life. That, my dear boy, would be my greatest regret. Perhaps the story will reach you when we're close enough as the year progressed, when I feel that there is a mutual bond between us. But for now, I must ask of you to comply with our agreement and draft a more suitable lesson plan. I would appreciate it very much, Tom."

Lord Voldemort had threw back his head then, and laughed like a maniac. Dumbledore just stared at him, unblinking and with a sad expression plastered on his face.

"Don't humour me, headmaster. I don't believe a word of it. You? Power crazy? Exploring dark magic? Do you expect that I am such an insolent crackpot old fool to buy your story?"

"That, my dear boy, clearly shows that you do not know me at all. Perhaps over time, as we exchanged our ideals, you will get a clearer picture of who I truly am. You'll be surprised to find out that I was once just like you, believe it or not."

Lord Voldemort had then stormed out of the office, after throwing Dumbledore a contemptuous look. Dumbledore did not even try to stop him this time, and he was glad that the old codger had the sense not to do so. He was sick of the old coot, his old stories, his lies and his manipulative tactics. He would not give Albus Dumbledore the satisfaction he craved for. He had the Ministry and other influential authorities under his thumb, but Lord Voldemort was certainly not going to let himself to be treated in the same way. He was special, he had potential and he would prove to Dumbledore one day the flaws in that lightheaded old fool's beliefs and philosophies of life.

For more than once, he had questioned Dumbledore's motives for offering him the job so openly. There was not even a moment's thought on that night, he could tell. Something had triggered Dumbledore's change of attitude towards him. He was pretty sure that he would not get the job. He was merely going to Hogwarts to do something else, and the application for a job was merely a facade to conceal his true intentions.

He smirked in satisfaction as he visualised the beautiful diadum of Rowena Ravenclaw, which he had obtained through a few years of hard work and rough journeys, now perching on top of the ugly and crumbling bus made from stone. He had taken care to hid it well among the pile of junk in the room of hidden things – as he liked to call it – before coming to see Dumbledore. No one would ever guess his greatest secrets, and a part of him would remain locked up and hidden safely from the castle and even from Dumbledore, who seems to know everything. His soul fragment would continue to exist, obscured and tucked away in a hidden place and this will last for eternity. He would never die, and no one would be able to destroy him. One would have to finish off his horcruxes first.

Yet, as he had departed from the castle on that cold winter's night after his meeting with Dumbledore, he was overcome with unease. What had made Dumbledore changed his mind? He could see that the headmaster was conflicted before he made his decision. Surely, it could not be that easy, knowing Dumbledore. He did not believe a word of Dumbledore's excellently constructed excuse.

"You asked for a job. I gave it to you. Isn't that simple enough, Tom?"

He snorted as he remembered what Dumbledore had said. He was sure that Dumbledore had a motive of giving him the job, and he was intended to find out what that was. He had accepted the job based on this premise, aside from the fact that he would nonetheless be able to spread his influence slightly over the students. All the Slytherins would be on his side before he left the castle and continue on his path to greatness and success, he was sure of it. He could kill two birds with one stone by accepting the job, he gathered. Furthermore, it would be suspicious if he turned Dumbledore down, as the old coot would bound to get suspicious of his intentions of visiting the castle in that ghastly weather. He had no desire to let his guard down in front of Dumbledore and he would not want his secret to be discovered so soon. Dumbledore had guessed that he had a purpose of coming to the school on that night, but Dumbledore only guessed one half of the truth. The other half, Voldemort assured himself, he would never ever know, not even on the day he died. Voldemort figured that he would have to play his cards well and laid them on the table with extreme precaution.

Lord Voldemort stepped out of the castle grounds as these memories from the past year and the day before flickered through his mind's eye briefly. He had already written a new lesson plan, which he hoped, would satisfy the old coot. The plan was an absurd one, with a brief overview on everything he intended to teach the students, and he had to shrink the contents until the only remains were just the tip of the iceberg. He literally cringed as he imagined the boredom he faced when he taught his students this fall. However, he consoled himself by thinking about his other plan. Dumbledore would not get to know about this, he was determined to not let a word of it to reach the headmaster by any chance. He would provide the knowledge he gained to his mentees, which he would have the privilege to select, as agreed before. He would groom them accordingly and shape them up by helping them to recognise their true potential. A smirk edged onto his features when he thought about this. Dumbledore may be able to boss him around, but he would have known that Lord Voldemort was not one who would accept defeat so easily. He would show Dumbledore how able he was in the years to come, he decided.

Lord Voldemort reached his favourite tree, the beech tree which he himself had picked up and planted there during his first year. It had grown over the years, as he had used various kind of magic to sped up the growth process and enchanted the tree to make it as comfortable as possible. It had been his favourite spot ever since he was drawn to it on his first day of school, when he had first came across the shady and secluded area. He had managed to get the small plant from the greenhouse as a reward for helping his Herbology professor to handle some poisonous ivy and potted some mandrakes. He had planted the tree and then enchanted it to suit his needs.

He would sit and read under the tree for hours and hours until sunset during his schooldays. This was his comfort zone. Hogwarts, despite its irritating professors and gibbering and idiotic students was his first and only home. It was a beautiful place, with its winding paths, long corridors and oil paintings. He had never feel so secured and relaxed when he was away from the castle. He belonged there. He could feel the castle's old and ancient powers and magic, calling to him, whispering to him, wrapping their thin golden and beautiful threads around him, seducing and lulling him, entrancing him and drawing him towards the castle. He liked the feeling very much, but had never confided this to anyone. This would be only his secret and he alone should know about it.

Lord Voldemort felt the hot rays of the sun on his skin as he read late into the afternoon. Occasionally, a soft breeze blew across the castle grounds, making the leaves of the beautiful tree rustle silently. He felt peaceful, calm, collected and relaxed.

The sudden snapping of twigs ahead made him look up. He had no desire for someone to discover him in this vulnerable state, not even that old great oath, Hagrid. He was sure that it had to be one of the school staff. After all, this was the middle of the summer holidays, and no students are permitted to stay back at Hogwarts.

His gaze travelled the entire length of the grounds, but he found nothing suspicious. There was nothing at all. No one was watching him. He was perhaps being too paranoid, he gathered. He let out a frustrated growl, and resumed his reading.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione picked her way through the small crowd of people who were doing their shopping at Diagon Alley. A smile was playing on her lips as she observed her surroundings. Diagon Alley, she noted, had not changed much. The brightly lit cobblestone street was as inviting as ever, with its beautiful shops along the way. She had successfully apparated here from Hogsmeade.

Her first stop was Gringotts. She had opened an account under her own name, as she figured that it would not make any difference since she was going to be stuck in this timeline in eternity. She had deposited some money and a few tomes which she deemed would arouse suspicion among the wizzarding community. She had already made a copy of these books and stored it in a small journal, with unlimited pages. She figured that this precaution was necessary, just in case her beaded bag was snatched by some Death Eaters when they were on the run. The journal was stuffed into her pocket, and it contained all the vital information about horcruxes, various dark curses and etc. The journal had simply everything in it, and it was her latest creation. She had cleverly modified the undetectable extension charm so that it could also be used to extend the volume of information kept in a book. She was able to manipulate the charm to its full extend, and was secretly proud of herself.

Since Snape had given her enough supplies to last for a year, she had nothing much to shop for. Hermione only bought a few books from Flourish and Blots, as she simply could not resist the temptation of doing so. She just could not live without books.

She figured that she was able to blend in quite well with the crowd, as they did not even glance twice at her when they passed. A few young girls had smiled at her, but she did not return their smile. She did not wish to be drawn into a conversation which she was not prepared for. She had still not figure out a complete and believable cover story for her presence here. Until she managed to do so, she wishes to avoid contact with anyone as best as possible. She only needs to talk to another when it was really necessary to do so.

All was well thus far. She managed to take a quick look at the date when she was passing a newspaper stand. It was the month of August and she managed to arrive in 1960. Everything was perfect and under control. Her day could not have been better.

She had just one last stop to make before heading to the Leaky Cauldron, where she would book a room there and stay until she had figured out her next move. She made her way towards the south of Diagon Alley and was soon in front of Oliwander's wand shop. She seeks comfort in the thought that she would be in possession of a wand again. It would give her more security. One does not wander the streets of the wizzarding world these days without a wand. As far as she had glimpsed on the front page of the Daily Prophet of the day in the newspaper stand earlier, the dark wizard Lord Voldemort was on the move, gathering up his forces and his alliance was getting stronger as the days passed. Half of the giants and trolls community was on his side now, as rumours have it, and there were also certain unexplained sudden disappearances and deaths all around Great Britain, and the speculation of analysts that another dark wizard is on the rise was getting more attention from the press than it deserved.

Hermione shuddered. How was she supposed to barge in and ruin all of Lord Voldemort's well laid plans, she wondered. She was just an ordinary book-smart witch and nothing more. She was not really an accomplished dueller yet, as her spells were all weak and useless. She actually knew the reason for this, but she refused to acknowledge it. Hermione Jean Granger, the smartest witch of her age was never one who would easily give up on anything and was never one who was weak. She had actually thought herself with more spells that one would possibly learn from just studying the normal Hogwarts curriculum. She was never one who accepted defeat lightly, not when she was bested by her best friend, Harry during fifth year in OWLs. Although she did not show it in front of her friends, Hermione secretly resented Harry who had managed to outsmart her in her favourite subject at Hogwarts. She did not tell everyone about this, and pretended to accept her results with a happy expression plastered on her face. Deep down inside, she was actually feeling quite down. She had loved the dark arts ever since she came across it in her first year, although she did not tell anyone about it. She had read extensively in that field, and had even created her own spells from time to time, but did not dare to try them out.

How could they just gave her an E for her OWLs? All her hard work had been washed down the drain, as there was no other grade worthy other than an O. She could not and would not accept anything lower than that. That was simply her standards. She had all the while shy away from the darker side of magic, believing that it would be dangerous to dabble in it as one would lose them self in it if not careful. She was sure that if she had included all her findings and inventions in her script, she would gain a perfect O for that subject, but Hermione was not going to let her cover off so easily. She had no desire to be discovered studying the dark arts, especially by Dumbledore. He would get suspicious and would even consider throwing her out of the school, if he knew what she had been up to. She had gone beyond the tomes in the restricted section of the library by the time she was at the end of her fifth year, and her knowledge in the dark arts was sufficient to make her another dark protegy of the wizzarding world.

Nonetheless, Hermione was never once entranced by the dark arts. She knew just when to press the stop button in her system. She knew her own limits. Although she was studying the dark arts, she did not intend to use it. It would be handy some day in the future, she gathered. She would save her talents for rainy days, and she would show her true potential when the right opportunity presents itself.

When Harry had told her about Lord Voldemort's horcruxes, after his private lessons with Dumbledore, her heart leapt with excitement, whilst another part of her felt disgusted with herself. She had never heard of horcruxes before; never once had she come across the term when she was researching the dark arts. Her frustration reached its peak when she discovered that there was not a single book in the library which mentioned horcruxes. Of course, she was just thirsty for the knowledge contained within such an extraordinary yet cruel and inhuman kind of magic. She had given up on it at the end of her sixth year. Then, the horrible day came when Dumbledore was killed. And Hermione had suffered a nervous breakdown. Not many had knew about it. She had locked herself in her dormitory after dinner on the day of the funeral, and had stayed there for two days, telling Ginny and the others that she was sick. When the others tried to haul her to the infirmary when she did not show up for breakfast, lunch and dinner at the Great Hall, she had hurriedly made up excuses that she had not yet started packing and need some time alone to calm down. The others had gave her understanding looks and had not bothered her since.

During her breakdown, guilt crashed down on her, landing blow after blow to her conscience. She did not dare to question or acknowledge her own beliefs. She had once believed that there was no harm dabbling in the dark arts, as the branch of magic could be useful in the darkest moments, even to witches and wizards who had shy away from this kind of magic. She had once believed that the dark arts were a fascinating subject. Now, her beliefs were teared apart into bits, smeared, smudged and tainted. She had just witness what dark magic and its temptations would result in; cool-blooded, inhuman murder, just to gain power. She felt disgusted with herself for having worshiped the dark arts in some ways. She was a monster, and a complete betrayal to the wizzarding community. She had betrayed everyone, especially Harry and Ron. She did not think that she deserved to stand by Harry's side while he continued the battle. She was just a fool, who, like every other person who had dabbled in the dark arts, have been pulled into a seductive trance in which she forgets herself completely and shape new beliefs.

She had then done the most sensible thing of all. She had wiped her memory clean of the dark arts she had dabbled in. There was not a single trace of it left in her brain now. Only vague memories of what she had learned would surface in her mind. The rest was either put away in a secluded and tight compartment at the back of her mind, which she had locked away and had vowed never to unlock them again in the future. She should make up for her foolishness, and help Harry to finish up what he had to finish. All her discoveries were already recorded in her journal, and she had already erased her memory on most of the dark spells she had created. The journal was now buried deep in her beaded bag, and she had locked it with strong protective enchantments. She was not going to unlock the journal ever again, but she had taken the precaution to make sure that others would not be able to get their hands on it too. She had no desire to share her discoveries with the wrong person, who would be bound to use it in a distorted way.

Her magical core was weakened slightly after she had erased her memories. She could no longer perform certain strong and complicated spells. The memory charm she casted was too powerful, that it had ripped part of her magic away from her forever. However, she never regretted her decision until today. She had done the right thing, she kept telling herself. She had turned away before it was too late.

Perhaps, Hermione wondered for a brief second, as she walked into Oliwander's shop, she would have to unlock her deepest secrets again when she was here. It would cause her some courage and great pain to acknowledge her greatest fears to do so, but she figured that this was for the greater good. She would do what it takes to bring the dark lord to his downfall. She would save every life which is dear to her, and she was determined to succeed.

A bell tinkled as she stepped into the shop, closing the dusty glass door behind her softly. Once again, her eyes took in the all too familiar surroundings: the dusty shop front, the counter, a chair at the far end of the shop with some dusty cushions on it and heaps of thin, long boxes, piled high up on shelves until they almost touched the ceiling. The shop was quiet and deserted, and the same feeling of someone watching her which she had felt the first time she had come to buy her first wand returned. She straightened up and cleared her throat. She wanted to get this over with and get out of there as soon as possible. After all, she was still a new edition to the wizzarding world, and she did not wish to create any lasting impression of herself upon Mr. Olivander, whom she knew had an excellent memory. She did not wish him to remember her for being a mysterious customer. After all, she was just an ordinary witch. Perhaps she would get back her old wand, she mused. Who knows? Perhaps Mr. Olivander had already made it.

There was nothing to fear, she decided. Mr. Olivander would treat her as an ordinary customer, and nothing more. However, Hermione would find out soon enough that she was mistaken on this point. She could not have guessed what the future means and what it represents after she had purchased her wand.

So, oblivious to this small error of her own judgment, Hermione held up her head high and cleared her throat again, as she continued to pace the shop.

"Hello?" she called out in a rather small voice when no one comes to attend to her when she had cleared her throat for the third time.

"Good evening."

The familiar form of Mr. Garrick Olivander emerged from the back of the shop. His hair was not as white as she had seen him before and the creases on his forehead and the wrinkles on his face were less pronounced at this moment. The only similarity was his deep blue eyes, which pierced her gaze as they roamed over her form.

"Ah," Mr. Olivander said, after a few moment of silence. "Finally, I feel it again. Yes, it is the same thing. The same dark aura. It seems though it was only yesterday this happened. He was there, standing where you are standing, buying his first wand. Ah yes, I can see now. There are a few similarities, although, shall I say, you are quite, let me put it, different from him? There is still some lightness within you, yes, I can see that. And I hope that it is a good sign. It better be good. . ."

Hermione shuddered. She wondered what Mr. Olivander was mumbling about. Had the man gone crazy? Everything he said was not making any sense. How could she, Hermione Jean Granger, an ordinary Muggle-born witch possess the same dark aura like a certain person? She had a fairly good idea of whom Mr. Olivander was referring too, but yet, she did not think that it made any sense if she made the connection between that person and herself. They were two worlds apart; her philosophy did not match his, and their view of the world they lived in was just like fire and ice. She was warm and passionate, brave and loyal; he was cunning, calculative, contemplative, emotionless and cold inside out. How could Mr. Olivander said such absurd things, she wondered.

Nonetheless, she tried to draw Mr. Olivander's attention by taking his hand quietly and shook it.

"It is such a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Olivander, Sir," Hermione said, smiling politely.

With a start, Mr. Olivander's gaze, who had become unfocussed, turned back to Hermione. He grasped her small hand in his thin and bony one, and shook it warmly.

"Oh, sorry about that, my dear. Forgive me; I must have drifted off without knowing it. These things happened to people who are aging, you know."

He offered her another warm smile as she let go of his hands.

"Indeed," Hermione chimed in, trying her best to get down to business as soon as possible. Mr. Olivander was really giving her the creeps, as he continued to scan her through his blue eyes.

"Now, how may I help you, young lady?" Mr. Olivander asked after a few minutes of silence between them, where he continued to gaze at Hermione intently whilst she shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"I need to get a new wand," Hermione said. "My old one is broken."

"Ah, I see," Mr. Olivander said, still giving her a calculating look. "Forgive me for being rude, young lady, but I don't believe that I remembered you."

"No," Hermione said hastily. "I just moved here. I lived in France. I came down to Britain for a fresh start after my parents died. They were tortured into insanity by Grindelwald back in 1945, before the great Albus Dumbledore defeated him. I took care of them myself, whilst attending a homeschool ran by my guardian. I was only a little girl, but I showed signs of magic when I was about two years old. My guardian tutored me for fifteen years, until I was old enough to learn things on my own. A few weeks ago, my guardian passed away and I had nowhere to go. My guardian had expressed the wish that I should spent a few years at Hogwarts, to complete my education and if possible, apply for a job as a professor there."

"I see," Mr. Olivander said. Hermione averted her gaze when she related her false story to Mr. Olivander. She had made this up on the spot, as desperation was clutching at her. She was sure to remember it now, and add in a few details when she applying to Hogwarts later, she decided.

Luckily, Mr. Olivander did not seem to be suspicious after hearing her story. However, Hermione noted irritably that he made no attempt to take down the boxes piled high on the shelves and giving her a wand to try.

"One more thing I would like to know, young lady," Mr. Olivander said, drawing himself up to his full height. "How did you broke your wand? Forgive me, but this is only to satisfy an old man's curiosity and nothing more."

"My wand was made by Gregorewich," Hermione said coldly. She was starting to get nervous and irritated. Why had Mr. Olivander even bothered to ask her such questions? Luckily, she had read enough about the properties and characteristics of wands during her spare time at Hogwarts in her past life. She was going to thank her know-it-all trait in her later for this. "I am an inquisitive person. I like to try out new things. My wand could not handle the force of my magic. I was experimenting with one of the spells that I have invented. It is not a light spell, but not too dark, I can tell you that. Gregorewich's wands, especially the ones made from willow bark and villa hair could not withstand the pressure of my spell, so my wand shattered into pieces."

Hermione looked away when she was relating this information to Mr. Olivander. She had no desire to be caught lying by Mr. Olivander.

Mr. Olivander nodded and gave Hermione another smile. He was finally satisfied with her reply, she decided.

Five minutes passed, in which Mr. Olivander measured Hermione's arm using his measuring tape which was magically enchanted. Hermione felt that she was reliving the moments from her first year.

Mr. Olivander finally replaced the measuring tape in his pocket and started to sort through the piles of boxes in his shop.

"Try this," he said, handing her a wand. "Ten and a quarter inches, walnut and dragon heartstrings, hard but easy to manage. Good help in Transfiguration."

Hermione was about to give the wand a wave when Mr. Olivander snatched it away from her hastily.

"No, I don't think so," he said, replacing the wand in its thin slender box, and reached for another box.

"How about this?" he asked, handing her another wand. "Twelve and a quarter inches, holy and unicorn hair, flexible and swishy, powerful wand, ideal for duelling."

Before she could give it a wave, Mr. Olivander pulled it out of her grasp and shook his head.

This continued for about an hour. Hermione was worried that she would not be able to get a wand. Strangely enough, her old vine wand, which was still in the shop, did not recognise her touch this time. Her fingers had closed around the thin piece of wood when Mr. Olivander had handed it to her half an hour into their session.

She was sure that she would be getting the same wand again. However, her heartbeat quickened when she did not feel the usual warmth which enveloped her body and coursed through her fingers when her skin connected with the wand. She tried to wave the wand, but this time, instead of red sparks shooting out of its tip, the wand remained stiff and cold on her touch.

Mr. Olivander had frowned as he took the wand back from her.

"I have a feeling that this would be the right wand for you, Ms. Granger. But it appears that I'm mistaken. Ah well, never mind that," he said as he continued to sort through the pile of boxes in his shop. "Just an old man's mistake. Not to worry, my dear. The wand chooses the wizard, you see, and I'm confident that we'll find the right wand for you soon."

Hermione shifted nervously as the session continued. Mr. Olivander had went to the back of his shop and was busy rummaging in an old oak cupboard for more wands.

What if the plan failed? What if there was not a wand which chooses her because they all can detect that she was a fraudster? She was not suppose to exist in this timeline, she gathered. Surely Dumbledore would have figured that out, she mused.

"But he didn't know that you didn't have your wand with you, Hermione Jean Granger," she mocked herself. "You only have Harry's broken wand in your beaded bag. Yours was with Harry. Now, it is still in the shop, although I am certain that Harry's wand would not be among the others."

She wished that she could confirm this fact, but she did not dare to risk her chance. If she took out her beaded bag and has a quick look inside, she would have her theories confirmed, but she would not want Mr. Olivander to notice what she was doing. His senses were still sharp after all. The last thing she wanted was arousing the wandmaker's suspicion.

Mr. Olivander emerged from behind the shop just as Hermione was putting up more occlumency barriers. He was huffing slightly as he walked towards her. Beads of perspiration were visible on his forehead, but the wandmaker seemed to be oblivious to that fact. He was panting slightly as he laid down three dusty long and slim boxes on a nearby stool.

"These are the rare editions which I have made," he whispered excitedly, as he brushed off some dust from the boxes. "The rarest indeed. These wands are my pet projects when I was experimenting with the wonderful art of wand-making. Well, not all of them. One out of these three is . . . May I call it . . . a rare case. It is not the product of my experiments, but it was made due to unexplainable circumstances which I am, until today, could not seem to find the logical answer to it."

He chooses a box at random and handed it to her.

"Try this," he said. "Nine and a half inches, dragon heartstrings and dragon blood, unicorn hair and moonstone dust, holy."

Hermione was about to touch the wand which Mr. Olivander held out, but he stopped her by quickly snatching it away and stowing it back into its box.

"No, no, no," he said softly. "I don't think so. It does not suit your personality. Oh yes, I can see that."

He placed the wand gently back into its box, and laid it down gently among the pile.

"Ah," he said slowly, reaching for the longest of the boxes on the counter after a few moments of silence. Hermione could feel the wandmaker's blue eyes piercing through her. Luckily, her occlumency barriers were so strong that he could not even read a single thought of hers. Hermione knew that the wandmaker was trying to size her up by trying to penetrate her mind. She had no idea why the old man was so interested in her. Did he use to be so nosy around his customers, sniffing around them to fish out whatever information he could glimpsed by reading their minds? He does not seem to be that type of person, she gathered. When she met him in her past life, he was just a frail and harmless old man.

Mr. Olivander's soft voice jolted Hermione out of her musings.

"I wonder. Could it possibly be this one? After all, I can still see the similarities . . ."

Hermione restrained herself from growling in frustration. Why did Mr. Olivander behaved so weird in this time period? What similarities was he rambling on about? He had said this earlier, but refused to elaborate on it. She had no desire to ask him about it, but her patience was going to snap soon. Did Mr. Olivander still think that she was in some ways similar to the dark lord? Was he deluded? Come to think of it, she figured she knew why he was so interested in her. He had believed in the stupid and absurd theory of his, and was trying to test it out.

She wished that he could hurry up. She was fed up of not getting a wand so soon. Her sense of security was slowly slipping away as the seconds ticked by.

Mr. Olivander took out the wand from the box. It was white and slender and very long. For some reason, she felt a sense of familiarity when her gaze fell on the wand. She knew that she had seen the same wand somewhere, but she could not place it just yet.

"Try this," Mr. Olivander said, handing the wand to her.

Hermione took the wand from Mr. Olivander. Immediately, warmth coursed through her fingers and travelled up her arms the moment her fingers closed around it. She could feel the wand vibrating in her grip. She could tell that this was not an ordinary wand. The magic emanating from it was very powerful, she could feel it.

The magic from the wand was tugging at her magical core softly. The pull got stronger as seconds ticked by. Euphoria washed over her as she suddenly felt energetic and charged. The air around her was humming with magic. She could feel the power of the wand blending in with her magical core, teasing it slowly, beckoning for more. The vibration was getting stronger, nudging her magic and guiding it slowly through her body. It travelled from her upper body, towards her arms and it was now ready to be released. Her body hummed with energy. Her magic was going to burst out of her soon. She should be careful, she gathered. If she let it out now, the consequences was unpredictable. She should control her magic. If all her magic are forced out of her, she figured that her magical core may be damaged, and she may even bring about an explosion which will not only kill Mr. Olivander and herself, but also damage the whole shop.

"Ms. Granger?" Mr. Olivander sounded worried as he looked at her. Hermione had turned pale. Never had she experience something like this in her whole life. This was really a very powerful wand

Taking a deep breath, Hermione concentrated hard on her magic, and managed to push some of it back into her body. Her magical core responded immediately, gathering up some of her magic, and channelled it back into her body. Relieve washed over her, as she could no longer feel the vibration of the wand. It had became quite still. Her palms were sweaty, and her k knuckles had turned white as she was gripping the wand too hard.

She placed the wand down on top of its box and wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her dress. Then, she picked it up again.

Mr. Olivander stood a few inches away from her, without saying a word. He was still surveying her, she could tell from his expression.

"Are you all right, Ms. Granger?" he finally asked. "What is wrong? Any problems with the wand? Any . . ."

"No," Hermione said quickly, cutting him off before the wandmaker could ramble on. "I was just tired. Long journey. I'll give this one a try."

She picked up the wand once more. Again, warmth coursed through her fingers and travelled up her arms. But she was grateful that she could no longer feel the vibration of the wand. Everything seems to be in order.

She brought the wand down in a swift movement, and immediately, green sparks shot out from its tip.

She felt slightly shocked. Never before had she seen that shade of green before. It was a frightening sight. This was an avada kedavra green.

"Even the same result . . . I knew it . . . someday . . . "Mr. Olivander muttered to himself. Hermione could still make no sense of his words, or at least she chooses to ignore them. It scared her. Did she really had some similarities with the dark lord, she wondered.

"This is the one then?" she asked impatiently as Mr. Olivander took the wand from her and gave her another contemplating smile.

"Yes, indeed, it is," he said. "I should never have guessed . . . curious though, very curious."

"Excuse me?" Hermione said coldly, her patience finally snapping. "What is so curious?"

"This is a very special wand, Ms. Granger," Mr. Olivander said. "Thirteen and a half inches, yew and phoenix feather, very powerful wand indeed."

Hermione could feel blood draining from her face. Her insides turned cold. No wonder the wand was familiar. She had seen the wand before in one of Harry's memories. He had shown her a few memories, where this wand had appeared.

But surely this could not be true? The dark lord had already graduated from Hogwarts a long time ago. Surely he had already obtained his wand from Olivander's shop. How come the wand was still here? There were just so many surprises to take in, she mused. What else has this new timeline installed for her, she . Olivander's voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

"I remembered every wand I made, Ms. Granger, every single wand. It so happened, that the yew tree which is used to make your wand decided to give another bark, just one more so that another wand can be created. The phoenix, which feather is used to make this wand gave three feathers, allowing three twin core wands to be created. One of them, a wand which is eleven and a half inches, holy and phoenix feather has gone missing. I wonder why. It was still here two days ago, when I was updating my inventory. But never mind about that now. We'll worry about it later."

Hermione had already guessed what is to come next, but she was too overwhelmed with emotions right now to respond. She just stood rooted to the spot, listening to Mr. Olivander's explanation.

"Twin core wands?" she said in a small voice after some moments of silence. "How interesting. So, has the brother of my wand been sold yet?"

She just needs to make sure, as she had already knew the answer to that question.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Olivander. "It was sold almost two decades ago. The brother of your wand has done many great things, I heard. Its master is now slowly rising to power."

"I see," Hermione said dryly. She could no longer take in anymore suspense. This was simply too much to absorb in one single day.

"Indeed," Mr. Olivander said. "And I think it is clear now, that history would repeat itself again. I myself am to be blame for all this destruction. Ah well, whatever will be, will be. I think we'll see great things from you, Ms. Granger. I wish you luck."

Hermione ignored Mr. Olivander's ramblings. Her mind was too occupied with other thoughts.

Mr. Olivander wrapped up her wand in brown paper, and handed it to her from across the counter. Hermione took out seven galleons from her purse and laid the coins down on the counter. Mr. Olivander glanced at them briefly before taking them and put them into a magical till.

"Good day, young lady," he said, waving as she exited the shop.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Olivander," Hermione called out without bothering to look over her shoulders at the old wandmaker who was still standing behind the counter. "I am truly grateful for your help. Good evening to you, sir."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione felt much better after a long hot bath. She had booked herself a room at the Leaky Cauldron after exiting Diagon Alley. She had immediately asked for a hot meal, and then went up to her room to take a shower.

She was now sitting on the soft mattress of her bed, turning over the letter and the box which Dumbledore had asked Snape to give her. She figured that all her queries laid in here. She decided that she could not wait any longer. The suspense is suffocating her. She needs to know what she was sent back to this time period to do. She needs to know her predicament.

She opened the letter, and found various forged papers, detailing her personal history. There was a forged birth certificate, papers confirming that she was adopted by a particular guardian when her parents passed away and papers detailing her homeschooling. She breathed a sigh of relief. Luckily she had told Olivander a story which is close to what Dumbledore have planned for her. She was glad that she was able to keep her own name, Hermione Jean Granger, after taking one look at the birth certificate.

Her guardian was a Mr. Thaddeus Flamel, a distant cousin of Nicholas Flamel, the friend of Albus Dumbledore. She smiled. Dumbledore was trying to help her to blend in as best as possible. By having a Pureblood as a guardian, she would certainly gain some degree of respect from the wizzarding community.

Her test results were very good. They were the exact copies of her own results, except that the date has been changed, and Divination has been added to the list of her subjects after her third year. There was a letter from her guardian [also forged, Hermione assumed], which explained that Hermione had taken the OWLs when she was fifteen, to gauge her own skills and abilities. Her OWLs result slip was also included there. Her gaze travelled down the paper quickly. She felt slightly crestfallen, as she discovered that Dumbledore had not bother to forge an O for her Defence against the Dark Arts. A big E was scribbled neatly on the parchment next to the subject. However, for Divination, which Dumbledore had added, much to her annoyance, he had given her an O.

She put all the documents back into the envelope and laid it aside. Her heartbeat quickened as she picked up the small brown parcel. She wondered what was concealed under the thin layer of paper. It was certainly light and she could feel warmth coursing through her fingertips when she touched it.

With shaking fingers, she undid the wrapping slowly. It took her a few tries to do this, as she was too nervous.

With a final tug, she managed to take off the wrapping, and gazed down at a small wooden box. Nothing was written on it. She opened the box, and her gaze fell on two objects.

There was a small note and also a round orb which is all too familiar. She inhaled sharply. She could not be mistaken about this. She had seen it herself, hasn't she? The night at the Department of Mysteries and the Hall of Prophecies was unforgettable.

"How come the thing is here now?" she wondered in amazement. "Did Dumbledore give it to me so that I can kept it hidden? But this did not make any sense! The prophecy has not even been made yet!"

With her heart still racing, she picked up the note and unfolded it.

Written in Dumbledore's thin and slanting handwriting were the following words:

All the answers [or part of it] which you seek lies within the prophecy. Destroy it in order to hear it out loud. The sooner this is done the better. No one must know of this prophecy, and it will disappear after some time. This is from the present. I have used certain powerful enchantments to enable you to take it along with you to this time period. It already violates the fundamental principle of time travel. I dare not think of the consequences if it is not destroyed in time. History will repeat itself again and your sacrifice would be pointless.

Your next step is to enrol at Hogwarts as a seventh year student. The plan is as Severus had mentioned earlier. Come to see me when you arrived. I have addressed a letter to my future self, detailing the circumstances of your arrival. Bring your forged documents for your enrolment. Good luck, Hermione Granger.

Professor Dumbledore

P.S. Sorry to be so frank, dear, but I don't have much time. Follow the instructions, and all would be well.

Hermione folded the note and set it ablaze with a flick of her new wand. The wand was already warming up to her, and she was now able to control her magic very well.

She picked up the prophecy and inspected it closely. The round orb was not dusty at all. It looked new. She had an instinct that this was a new prophecy, not the one which they had broken earlier at the Department of Mysteries.

She turned the orb over in her hands, and squinted at the label at the bottom of it.

SPT to APWBD: Dark Lord and ?

And below it, there was another line, written in Dumbledore's handwriting, and Hermione nearly dropped the prophecy after reading it.

Hermione Jean Granger.

The orb began to hum and glow as she held it tightly. She released it after a while and stood up. She better get this over with once and for all.

With a swift movement, she held the orb high above her head and then threw it hard onto the floor. It smashed down hard on the cold marble floor. She snatched up her wand and quickly muttered locking charms and protective wards around her room. No one must hear the prophecy, save herself.

Smoke began to rise from the floor, forming a pearly white figure which is all too familiar. The figure rose higher and higher, her magnified eyes unfocussed.

Hermione completed the last spell just as the figure began to speak in a soft and melodious tone. Its voice was faint and raspy, but she could hear each syllable clearly.

" **The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches**

 **Born in the middle of September, to parents who disgusted him**

 **She will be reunited with the dark lord when she seeks him out**

 **And both shall rise, for the dark lord will mark her as his equal.**

 **The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches**

 **Born in the middle of September, to parents who never defied him**

 **She shall change history shall she desired, for she is the key to everything**

 **For either one of them will live while the others survived.**

 **However all is fair in love and war**

 **For magic is indeed full of possibilities**

 **Shall she succeed in her mission**

 **Both will live amongst the living**

 **For the dark lord repents and starts anew**

 **And this prophecy will be null and void.** "

The figure dissolved in a puff of smoke, leaving a gaping Hermione standing alone on the cold marble floor.


End file.
